


Bucket List

by AlyKat



Category: Marvel (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. References, Angst with a Happy Ending, Clint’s Bucket List, First Kiss, Get Together, It has a happy ending I swear, M/M, Post-Avengers (2012), Pre-Phase Two, Pre-Slash, Road Trips, Sad with a Happy Ending, Slow Build, Though not entirely Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. compliant, a brief bout of homophobia in chapter four, also a meet the family, evil alien mojo, tw: for slowly dying Avenger
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-24
Updated: 2014-07-26
Packaged: 2018-01-20 15:45:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 39,969
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1516103
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlyKat/pseuds/AlyKat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clint Barton has one month to live.<br/>Phil Coulson is determined to make it a month worth living.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Story inspired by Jeremy Renner's appearance on "House, MD". I literally had this entire story plotted out and planned by the end of that episode. 
> 
> Very special thanks to the wonderful [Ralkana](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Ralkana/pseuds/Ralkana) for being brave enough to beta this monster of a story. And I apologize from the bottom of my heart for any last minute tweaking I have done after the fact. 
> 
> Standard Disclaimer: Not all are my toys, I'm just playing with them. They belong to Marvel. Because Marvel has way cooler toys than me.

The call came in three days after the incident had taken place. Three days after another attack on New York, this time by giant robotic stink bugs, it appeared. Which meant it had been seventy-two hours since Clint had had one blow up right in his face, covering him in whatever putrid mist the robots were carrying around inside them. Phil didn’t have the full report of what had happened, or what Clint had wound up covered in; all he’d been told on the phone was that the archer was currently undergoing testing for sudden and serious muscle cramping. Under normal circumstances, it wouldn’t be anything to worry about, and Phil could have stayed on the Bus with his new team, going over their next case or maybe even enjoying a day off. This wasn’t normal, though. When every muscle in Clint’s body seized and clenched, rendering him in excruciating pain and damn near paralyzed, well, that was something to worry about.

Enough so that Phil ordered May to put the plane down in New York. It didn’t matter to him that Clint wasn’t under his supervision any longer --Natasha and Clint were both still Phil’s friends, his family-- he had to get to Clint and make sure everything was okay.

It was bright and warm outside, yet comfortably cool and pleasantly lit inside Avengers Tower as Phil stalked down the hall leading to Dr. Banner’s laboratory. His face set in a scowl, he breezed past a couple of locked doors until he found the one he was looking for. The reinforced glass doors slid open upon his arrival, barely making him break stride as he made a beeline to the computer chair Clint was currently straddling backwards. His arms folded over the backrest, chin resting on his forearm, Clint was very carefully watching every move Bruce and Tony made. Aside from his slightly pinched expression, not a single thing about him seemed out of place to Phil.

Clint’s eyes lifted and widened in surprise before they narrowed slightly and he stood, moving toward the exam chair Bruce and Tony had installed some time before. Phil didn’t let the shot of hurt that went through him show as he folded his arms over his chest, stepping up next to the table where the two scientists were working. Neither noticed him, or if they did, they refused to acknowledge him. It wasn’t completely undeserved; Phil had honestly been expecting such a reaction.

Clearing his throat at last, he tilted his chin up slightly and took a deep breath.

“What happened to Agent Barton?”

Bruce’s kind eyes lifted just enough to give Phil an apologetic glance, while Tony simply scoffed and continued typing away at the StarkPad in front of him, his dark eyes never once looking Phil’s way.

“You got the report, Agent. Otherwise you wouldn’t be here.” Stark bit out, nudging Bruce to get his attention again and pointing at the screen. It was only years of practice that kept Phil’s face stoic, and sheer willpower that allowed him to resist the urge to curl his hands into fists.

Turning his attention away from the pair, Phil made his way over to Clint instead. He had to make sure his former specialist was okay, not because he was the best sniper SHIELD had ever had, but because Clint was his friend. At least, he hoped they were still friends. Deep down, Phil knew that was asking a lot. He hadn’t exactly done much to ensure that Clint and Natasha knew he was still alive and well. They'd had to find out about it via the internet and the news. Phil knew full well that he’d hurt them both. He didn’t deserve forgiveness, wasn’t even about to ask for it, but he did still care about them, and making sure Clint was alright was the least he could do at the moment.

“Barton? Report?”

Cold, dark blue-green eyes shot up to meet his own, and if looks could kill, Phil knew he’d be dead where he stood. Again. Still, as he’d done with Stark and Banner, he kept his expression blank, even if his eyes did betray him -- but then, they always had when it came to Clint. They always softened when he was around Barton, no matter how hard Phil tried to keep them cold and uncaring. Phil knew without a doubt that the hurt, all his sadness and regrets from the past year and a half, it all was there in his grey eyes for Clint to see.

Not that it mattered at this point.

Clint huffed harshly, arms wrapped around his stomach -- the muscles of his biceps twitching just ever so slightly -- as he shook his head and looked away. “Like Stark said, Coulson. You got the report.”

“I’d like to hear it in your own words, if you don’t mind?”

Again, sharp eyes shot back to his, fire snapping in them. Clint’s jaw clenched and twitched, not just with anger, the corners of his eyes crinkling as they narrowed.

“Attack of alien robotic bugs,  _sir_ ,” Clint growled through his teeth. “Came in too close of contact with one. Iron Man blew it to kingdom come. I was in the debris path. Got covered in a mist that stunk like hell.”

Phil waited for the rest of the report, face still set. “And?”

“There is no  _and_.”

“Then explain why I was informed of you suffering from full body muscle cramping, and why you’re having blood work done by Dr. Banner and Mr. Stark.”

There was a cry of indignation from behind him as Tony lifted his head and glared at both SHIELD agents. “Hey! I have doctorates too, thank you very much!” His cry went ignored by everyone except Bruce, who just sighed and shook his head fondly. How in the world Banner managed to keep his calm around Tony was anyone’s guess; yet someway, somehow, Bruce seemed to find humor in his friend’s outbursts and eccentricities.

Clint and Phil, however, were locked in a battle of wills, staring each other down until one of them broke. Phil knew the archer could be stubborn, but he also knew that Clint would be the first to give in. They’d done this enough times for him to know how it would play out. It wasn’t long at all before Barton rolled his eyes and grumbled under his breath in frustration, looking away as he scowled fiercely.

Still, he refused to answer the question, waving instead for Bruce to answer for him. Bruce quietly cleared his throat and set his glasses down on the table in front of him, bringing Coulson’s attention back to him.

“Clint started experiencing muscle spasms and cramping within a few hours of getting hit with the robot's payload. It was a mist, so it absorbed into his skin and was inhaled easily. Whatever it was, that’s what’s causing the symptoms.” Bruce’s voice was the same calm gentleness that Phil remembered from the short time he’d spent with the man on the Helicarrier.

Frowning, Phil regarded him silently for a moment before asking, “Do we know what the mist was? Who it was meant for?”

Bruce shook his head as he raked a hand through his hair, glancing down at the StarkPad once more before turning his eyes back to Clint and Phil. “Honestly? I have no idea. If we’d been able to save even one of those robots, Tony could’ve taken it apart so I could see what was inside and figure out what it was that it sprayed on Clint, but… someone destroyed them all.” His looked pointedly at Tony.

Tony’s hands shot up in self-defense. “Whoa, hey! I didn’t mean to destroy it. It had a self-destruct or something, because I swear, I didn’t hit—”

"Yeah, okay, Captain Solo, we’ve heard this before. You didn’t hit it that hard, and there’s a good chance the Empire knows that we’re here." Clint grumbled, his arms tightening around his stomach as he curled up in his chair all the more. The corner of Phil’s mouth twitched ever so slightly. That was the humor he’d known for so long.

Phil resisted the urge to full on smirk as Tony balked, jaw opening and closing without a sound before clicking shut and staying that way. Looking back at Bruce, Coulson let his shoulders drop ever so slightly. “Do you have any idea what the substance is doing to him?”

“Right now?” Bruce frowned, his brown eyes glancing back at Clint for a moment. “From what we’ve found, Clint’s muscles are weakening.”

“Not just that,” Stark added, and Phil turned his gaze to him, watching the man step around the table and come up beside Bruce. “His muscles aren’t just weakening, they’re deteriorating. Being eaten away from the inside out.”

“We’re basically talking about alien-caused muscular dystrophy,” Bruce finished, voice softer than before. “At an accelerated rate.”

The lab fell quiet as those words hung in the air. For the first time since his “accident”, Phil felt as if his world had suddenly come to a screeching halt. He turned to look at Clint, gauging his reaction to this news. Clint’s expression was blank, features set in his natural surly looking resting face.

Clint’s chest rose as he took a deep breath. “You guys can fix it though, right?” he finally asked, looking between his two teammates.

Bruce’s eyes dropped to his shoes, and Tony glanced away awkwardly as he reached up to scratch at his goatee. Their silence wasn’t comforting for anyone. Two of the brightest minds in the world had nearly unlimited resources --of course they’d be able to fix it. So why weren’t they confirming it?

“Can’t you?”

“Clint,” sighed Banner, his eyebrows knitting together and face pinched with regret. “Muscular dystrophy isn’t curable. There’s treatments that can slow it down, but--”

“We’re trying to get in touch with Thor. It’s alien, whatever it is, so he’s gotta know something about it.” Tony cut in, trying to be the one who actually was able to bring in hope. He shrugged nonchalantly, arms folded over his chest and determination etched on his face.

Tony’s air of nonchalance was less than comforting to Phil. He’d been trained to pick up on tiny nuances that would hint to changes in mood or attitude; Tony’s body language, to Phil -- and no doubt Clint, as well -- was near screaming with his unease. They were helpless, and if there was one thing they all hated feeling, it was helplessness.

Clint pushed himself off his chair, hands automatically tucking into his pockets as he turned to leave the room. “Old man always said I’d be dead before I hit forty,” he muttered, the automatic doors to the lab whooshing closed behind him.

The lab fell quiet, only the whirring of machines filling the space between them. Phil’s mind raced, though none of the thoughts were anything they could run with. It was up to Tony and Bruce to get this figured out before it was too late. And it was up to Phil to make sure Clint was properly taken care of in the meantime. His grey eyes fell back to where the two scientists stood, booth looking as if they were schoolboys waiting to be scolded by the teacher.

Instead, Phil took a breath, turned, and started to follow Clint. “Keep trying to figure something out. I’ll make sure there’s someone trying to contact Thor and bring him in for help. Do what you can.”

Without another word, he stepped into the hall, leaving Tony and Bruce to their own devices.

 

* * *

 

Phil had just gotten off the phone with HQ, ensuring that Clint would be taken off any and all duty rotation rosters, as well as relieved of his Avengers duties until they figured out how to reverse the effects of the alien mist, when Natasha breezed into his office. He had to admit he missed the days when she and Clint would just stroll into his office and set up camp on his couch. 

She was as silent as ever, face blank while her eyes gave away the things she’d never say, but only to someone who knew her as well as Phil did. Graceful as an elegant ballerina, she settled herself into the chair across from his desk, hands folded in her lap and legs crossed at the knees. For a long moment, all she did was stare Phil down with her haunting green eyes. She wasn’t trying to break him -- she couldn’t, they’d played that game before -- but Phil knew that Natasha was judging him for his absence. 

It was the sound of Phil’s old desk clock beeping to alert a new hour that finally broke the thick silence between them. 

“Rumors of your death were greatly exaggerated.” 

“It tends to happen, sometimes.” 

Natasha hummed noncommittally. 

“He hasn’t been the same since New York, you know. Since Loki.” 

Phil didn’t flinch, but he did swallow a bit harder, the corners of his mouth pulling down just slightly in regret. “I know. I don’t think any of us have been.” 

Silence fell between them once more, Natasha’s cool gaze focused solely on Phil. He deserved her scrutiny. Lesser men would have broken and caved under the Black Widow’s glare; other SHIELD agents would have been quaking in their boots and rushing for the safety of another room. Phil simply sat behind his desk, hands folded on the smooth flat surface, and stared unblinking back at her. 

“Clint has been through a lot, has struggled to come back after everything that’s happened to him. I won’t let you get in the way of his progress.” 

“I have no intention to,” Phil said as he quirked a brow and shook his head. “I’m here to try and help him, Natasha.” 

Slowly, Natasha stood. She was not a tall or intimidating creature, but she knew how to use her body as a weapon and had other ways to make people fear her wrath. 

“What do you truly intend to do, then, Coulson, to try and help Clint? This isn’t something you can just sit at his bedside and wait for him to wake up from. This is death. Dying. With no plausible way of fixing or reversing it.” 

The tone of her voice and the way she leaned heavily across his desk made all the guilt and regret swell in Phil’s chest. Death. Clint was slowly dying, and unlike when Phil died, there would be no coming back from it. Not unless they could contact Thor or come up with some kind of miracle antidote. Clint was his friend, one of his best friends, and yes, maybe Phil’s feelings for him went deeper than that, but either way, he cared for the man; he wanted to be there for him and help in any way that he could. 

“I’ve taken some time off. Director Fury still owes me. I’m going to stay here and help locate Thor and try to help take Clint’s mind off of what’s happening. It’s not much, but it’s the least that I can do.” 

Natasha’s lips pressed into a tight thin line, a dainty hand reaching into her leather jacket pocket to pull out a few sheets of wrinkled and folded paper. She set them down in the middle of Phil’s desk without a word, turned briskly on her heels and started for the door. 

“What’s this?” 

She paused as her hand touched the doorknob. Glancing back over her shoulder, she quirked a brow of her own and tilted her head in that unnerving little way she had. 

“New mission assignment, Sir. Top priority. Udacha.”  _Good luck_

Phil waited until his office door was shut again before unfolding the paper and carefully looking it over. It was a seemingly pointless list of obscure and outrageous activities, all written in Clint’s sloppy scrawl. It was only when he reached the last page that Phil realized what he’d been handed and why. 

A new mission assignment, indeed. 

Phil folded it back up and tucked it into his suit pocket, and then his fingers began to fly across his keyboard as he carefully began to plan out the next month of his and Clint’s lives. If Clint Barton truly only had one month to live, then Phil was determined to make it the best damn thirty-one days ever.

 

* * *

 

 

Two days later, Phil came into Clint’s room before the sun even started to rise. He flipped the light on and moved straight for the closet, not even glancing over as a throwing knife breezed in front of his face and embedded itself in the wall. 

“Wha…Coulson? What…is there a call? What are—” 

“Get up, Clint. Take a shower, eat some breakfast and then come with me.” Phil pulled Clint’s duffle down off the shelf and started methodically folding clothes into it. Jeans and Clint’s beloved cargo pants made up the bottom layer, followed by T-shirts and a few of his flannels and zippered hoodies, which made up the second layer, while socks and boxers filling in all the empty spaces along the way. He glanced at the slacks and dress shirts, finally deciding ‘just in case’ was good enough cause to pack those in as well. 

Clint sat up slowly, flinching as his body protested the movement. “Where’re we going?” 

Phil didn’t answer. 

He moved toward the adjoining bathroom and came back out a moment later with Clint’s shaving kit, toothbrush, toothpaste, and deodorant. Those items were carefully sealed into a plastic Ziploc and tucked into an empty side pocket. 

“Coulson? What the hell are you doing?” 

“Packing for you. Now go eat or something. We have a flight to catch at zero-six-thirty. We have to get going.” Coulson’s grey eyes never lifted to meet Clint’s. Out of his peripheral vision he saw Clint push the thick, heavy blankets back and slowly climb out of bed. He kept his head down as the other man passed by him, grabbing up clothes along the way to change into once he’d showered. 

Phil moved back out into the main room of Clint’s tower suite. Bruce was standing in the middle of the room looking tired and frazzled. His light purple button up shirt was rumpled and slightly untucked from his khakis and his silver specked hair was a mess of loose curls. Adjusting his glasses when Phil came into sight, Bruce reached into his slacks pocket to produce two small bottles. 

“You’re sure these will help?” Phil reached for the bottles, already knowing what they were even before Bruce had the chance to explain. 

“Honestly? No. I’m not, but it’s the best Tony and I can come up with. It seems to be slowing down the pathogens, but not doing much in the way of destroying them. There’s enough here to get him through the next month and a half. Make sure he doesn’t take them on an empty stomach. One in the morning when he wakes up and one at night before he goes to sleep.” 

Phil nodded as he looked from one bottle to the other. The one in his left hand held a different name than the one in his right. 

“Vicodin?” 

Bruce shook his head. “No, an all natural alternative. Whatever this thing is, it’s slowly eating away at his muscle mass. It’s going to get painful real quick. That’ll at least help with the pain. I know he’s not a fan of anything that’ll impair his judgment.” 

“Thank you,” Phil pocketed the bottles and held his hand out for Banner’s. “Thank Tony for me, also. I know you’re both doing everything you can to help Clint.” 

The scientist gave a nod as he shook Phil’s hand firmly. “Make sure he takes plenty of Vitamin C, too. Just in case this decides to start attacking his immune system as well.” 

Turning, the man started for the elevator just as the water in Clint’s bathroom shut off. As his hand touched the doorknob, Bruce glanced back over his shoulder at Phil and gave a small, sad smile. 

“Take care of him, Coulson. We’ll let you know the minute we make contact with Thor.” 

It was a well known fact among the Avengers that Clint hated having to take medicines about as much as he hated having to go to medical. At least with Phil looking after him, there was a better chance Clint wouldn’t fuss too much about the medication. That was the hope anyway. It was why the pills had been entrusted to Phil instead. 

Phil waited until the door was shut before he put the pill bottles in his own duffle bag. He pulled the sheets of notebook paper from an inside pocket and carefully unfolded them. Clint didn’t know Natasha had given Phil the Bucket List, and it pained him to read some of what the man had written down. Two of the deeds Phil had already crossed off: Make my family proud, and Have someone love me. Sometimes it hurt straight down to the bone how oblivious Clint was. Phil had ticked both of those off the minute he saw them. He and Natasha and the other Avengers were Clint’s family, and they were all already proud of him. The Have someone love me one? Well, it was Phil’s goal to make sure that by the end of their trip Clint knew just how much Phil loved him. 

Folding the paper back into fourths, Coulson tucked it back into his duffle before zipping the bag shut and setting it by the door. 

Clint emerged from his room a moment later, dressed in a pair of navy cargo pants, his faded out Mickey Mouse shirt, and a pair of white socks. His light hair hung down in wet clumps on his forehead as he shuffled towards his kitchen. It was hard to tell just by looking at him that there was some alien pathogen doing its damnedest to eat him alive from the inside. To anyone on the street, Clint was the picture of perfect and prime health. More so than most men his age. 

Phil followed him into the kitchen, his own old sneakers squeaking quietly across the hardwood floor of the hall. 

“You’d better eat something fairly filling. I doubt there’s going to be much open when we get to the airport, and airline pretzels don’t go very far,” he said from the doorway before making his way to the fridge. 

He watched as Clint’s head lifted slightly, his tired eyes turning towards him, and suppressed a smile when realization clicked in Clint’s mind that Phil wasn’t dressed in a suit. Contrary to popular belief, Phil did own jeans --even faded and worn ones with a hole in the back pocket from where the button on his wallet had rubbed through. Of course, it wasn’t often that anyone had seen him dressed down like he was. Chill bumps on his arms from the cool, damp night air flowing in through Clint’s open windows, going all the way up and under the sleeves of his blue-grey V-neck T-shirt. His hair was still drying from his shower and only hand swept to the side--he’d been in too much of a rush to make himself properly presentable. 

Phil knew he looked soft, like any other man they’d see on the street. He’d put Agent Phillip J. Coulson --the man, the myth, the legend-- as far away from himself as he could. Right now, he was just Phil Coulson.   

“We’re not taking one of the jets?” Clint asked in confusion. 

Phil looked up from buttering a piece of bread and shook his head. “No. Not this time.” 

“Coulson, what the hell is going on?” 

Sighing heavily, Phil frowned and set the knife down before turning his attention back to his former asset. He regarded him silently for a moment before loosely folding his arms around his stomach and glancing down at his sneaker clad feet. 

“I know how you feel about sitting around not being able to do anything. Fury’s pulling you from the field due to your condition. He—“ 

“WHAT?! That’s  _bullshit_! I can still do missions and—“ 

“Clint, let me finish.” Phil’s tone was sharp enough to get Clint’s attention and make him close his mouth. Taking a deep breath, Phil continued on. “I asked him to, and he agreed. Neither of us want to risk your health any further, you’ve been put into my care. I’ve got more than enough vacation and sick time to use up.” 

His grey eyes finally met Clint’s, and he lowered his hands to slip into his jean pockets. “From now until the others make contact with Thor, you and I are both on mandatory stand-down. Which means…we’re going to take a trip. A lot of them, actually.” 

Clint’s eyebrows scrunched together, crinkling his forehead in the most adorable way. His Confused Puppy Look, Stark had called it once. “Where are we going?” 

Shrugging, Phil finally turned his attention back to his toast. “Well, there’s a comic convention happening in Phoenix that I’ve been wanting to go to. I actually managed to get tickets for it before I left California,” (He really hadn’t) “And I’m sorry, but I’m not letting something as trivial as this keep me from the convention. So you’re coming with me. From there, I thought we could head up to the Grand Canyon.” 

He turned to rest his hip against the counter and take a casual bite of toast. Clint’s face was absolutely priceless. A mix of shock, disbelief, and excitement. 

Stuffing a spoonful of cereal in his mouth, Clint gave a slow, thoughtful nod. “Comic convention in Phoenix and then the Grand Canyon?” 

“Mmhmm. Every time I’ve been to Arizona it’s been winter, and if I wanted to see snow, I’d have stayed in the Midwest or here. So I’ve never actually been there. Could be nice. I hear some guy recently walked across a wire from one edge to the other.” 

Clint snorted softly as he nodded and finished off his breakfast. Phil watched as it was rinsed, Clint’s hands pausing for a moment before washing it completely to be put away. 

“Right, it’s in upstate Arizona. I keep forgetting they do actually get snow in that state.” Clint mumbled as he turned to put the bowl and spoon back in their respective places. 

Phil gently touched his shoulder, hoping to pull him from his thoughts. He watched Clint blink quickly and turn his head to look at him. Smile soft and empathetic, Phil squeezed Clint’s shoulder reassuringly. 

“Go grab your bag. I’ll make sure things are turned off and locked up.” 

Clint nodded slightly as he pulled away and made his way back to his bedroom to slip on his boots and grab his bag. Once he was around the corner, Phil took a deep, steadying breath. 

“JARVIS?” 

“The windows have already been closed and locked, Agent Coulson, and I have put all of Agent Barton’s electronics on sleep mode.” The smooth, accented electronic voice was quiet in the kitchen, almost comforting. It wouldn’t surprise him if someday Stark found a way to create a body for the AI, given the personality it was starting to develop. 

Without a word, Phil moved back to pick up his bag, pausing when he saw the old beat up purple Converses sitting next to the door. A quick glance over his shoulder, and he was reaching to stuff them into his own bag, just in case the boots became too much for Clint at some point. 

Hoisting his duffle up onto his shoulder, Coulson stood with the door open when Clint finally reappeared, his own bag in one hand and his bow case in the other. Phil wasn’t going to tell him he couldn’t bring the weapon; he knew it was the closest thing to a security blanket Barton had. 

Smiling slightly, he motioned out the door and closed it behind him as he stepped out. JARVIS automatically locked and alarmed it as they stepped into the elevator.

 


	2. Chapter 2

The Phoenix heat was the first thing they felt the minute they stepped off the plane. It soaked into the aching muscles they both had and helped to ease some of the tension that had built up during the near eight hour flight from LaGuardia to Sky Harbor. As far as airports went, Phil had to say he kind of liked the one in Phoenix. It was small, especially for being an international airport, and easy to navigate. Plus, there was a Starbucks right at the entrance and exit for Gate C.

Phil had indulged Clint when they reached the end of the ramp and bought him the largest caramel mocha Frappuccino they had, with extra syrup, extra sauce and extra whipped cream. The drinks were heavenly after their long flight, and the sounds Clint made while drinking it were clearly inappropriate for being in public.

They made their way down to the lower level baggage claim so Clint could pick up his bow case before moving towards the car rental kiosk where Phil had already arranged to borrow a car for the three days they would be staying in the area.

The midday sun beat down on them them as they stepped out into the car lot to toss their bags into the car Phil had rented. Nothing flashy or sleek, it looked like it belonged in the SHIELD motor pool garage, except for the fact it was a gorgeous shade of deep purple. So dark it nearly looked black until you were right next to it. Clint groaned covetously around the straw of his drink when he saw it.

Phil drove straight from the airport to their hotel, just down the street from the Phoenix Convention Center, and only got turned around once or twice, no thanks to the blasted built-in GPS. The convention had only been open for a couple of hours by the time they picked their tickets up from will-call and made their way onto the show floor. Phil watched in amusement as Clint’s jaw dropped when he saw the crowds of people dressed in costumes—personifications of The Doctor’s TARDIS, and Manga characters, and there were even people dressed up as Steve, Tony, Natasha, and Thor. It was absolutely amazing! Stalls and booths formed aisles and some towered high above the crowds with novelty T-shirts or memorabilia for everything from Scarface to the latest internet crazes.

Not a novice when it came to conventions, Phil checked that Clint was following him like a dumbstruck puppy as they made their way slowly from booth to booth, stopping at different comic sellers for Phil to nonchalantly thumb his way through the bins of backdated books while Clint stared in wonder at the people walking by. Phil wished he’d brought his camera along to take pictures -- true, he had his phone, which took decent enough photos, but he wanted the high quality shots his regular camera took. Especially once he saw the way Clint’s eyes widened when people stopped others who were dressed in costume to take photos of them or with them. Plus, he was sure Tony would have loved to have seen the women dressed in scanty versions of the Iron Man suit.

Phil led Clint up and down the aisles for a while, pausing now and again to buy small souvenirs for them both and hiding his pleased little smiles when he saw the way Clint’s face brightened each time. They stopped every once in a while to sit and people watch, though it was really so Clint could rest and not completely wear himself out. The panels they managed to get into were interesting and Phil was glad; it was well worth the hassle just to hear Clint laugh so openly with everyone else in the crowd.

They were finally leaving for the night, each laden down with multiple bags of goodies, when Clint froze in his tracks and just stared straight ahead of him. Phil paused when he realized Clint wasn’t with him anymore and quickly spun around to find him blinking, jaw slack, with both his bags sitting at his feet.

“Clint? What is it? Are you okay?” Phil was at his side in an instant, shifting bags from one hand to the other as he gently reached to touch Clint’s arm.

Clint drew in a deep breath and pointed in front of him. Phil followed the direction of his arm and scanned the crowd for something out of place or potentially harmful. Then, his eyes landed on what the man was actually pointing at. A boy, not much more than twelve or thirteen, stood next to his family with a bow in hand and a quiver full of foam arrows over his shoulder. Dressed in black jeans, combat boots, and an obviously homemade SHIELD black and deep maroon colored sleeveless shirt, the boy was clearly dressed to look like Hawkeye. His hair was even cut and styled as Clint’s generally was, and dark sunglasses covered his eyes.

A knowing smile crept across Phil’s face as he bent to pick Clint’s bags up off the floor. Glancing back at Clint, who was still standing there shocked and open-mouthed, he couldn’t help the soft huff of laughter that escaped him.

“C’mon. I’ll introduce you to your fanboy.”

Clint’s eyes widened to near comical proportions. “You know who he is?”

“No, but half the fun of conventions is getting to meet new people, and trust me, you’ll probably make that kid’s day for being excited over his costume.” Nudging Clint along, Phil cast the parents of the teen a friendly smile and nodded hello as they got closer.

The mother smiled back politely before catching her son’s attention and pointing to the two men who’d come up to see him.

“Afternoon, Hawkeye.” Phil said with a smile, and the boy’s face lit up to a near blinding degree. “My friend and I just wanted to come over and say that you did a really great job on your tacsuit.”

“Really? You think so?! Thanks!” The boy looked between the two men, then back at his parents. It was obvious the boy didn’t recognize Clint, not with the man wearing his street clothes and hair lying flat instead of ruffled in all directions, or without his signature sunglasses. Sometimes, it was a blessing that the press hadn’t ever caught pictures of Clint during his downtime.

“Would it be alright if we had our picture taken with you?” The bags were already sitting next to Phil’s feet as he pulled his phone from his pocket and thumbed across the screen. In an instant, the teen had an arrow out of the quiver and nocked, posed and ready. Phil glanced at the boy’s parents and hopefully held his phone out. “Would you mind?”

“Not at all.” The father shook his head as he stepped forward, taking the phone from Phil and giving a low whistle as he looked it over. “Huh, new Stark Phone. Haven’t seen many of these around yet.”

Phil shrugged as he moved to stand on one side of the teen while Clint stood on the other. Clint mimicking the boy’s stance while Phil brought up his best Agent Coulson mask of professionalism. The father took a couple of pictures, just to be on the safe side, before he handed the phone back and shook Phil’s hand.

“You guys probably just made Andy’s whole month for this. Nobody’s approached him the entire time we’ve been here.” The words broke Phil’s heart, and he was glad that Clint had suddenly found his voice again and was too busy showing Andy basic archery techniques and better grips for the bow to hear what the man had just said.

Phil turned back to the dad and shook his head as he pulled a card from his wallet and a pen from his pocket. “Believe me, as much as we made your son’s month, your son just made my friend’s entire year.

“Phil Coulson, pleasure meeting you.” He handed the man his card, with the SHIELD eagle in one corner, _Strategic Homeland Intervention, Enforcement, and Logistics Division_ printed across the top, and his own name and phone number on the bottom. The man looked at the card for a long moment, clearly trying to gauge whether it was a joke or not before he glanced to where Phil was nonchalantly holding his SHIELD badge out for verification. Recognition suddenly exploded across the man’s face as he quickly looked from Phil, to Clint, and back again.

“That’s—“

“Yeah. Like I said, your son just made his year.” Phil’s smile was tight but friendly enough as he held out the pen to the man. “Give me your email address and I’ll send you these pictures as soon as I get back to our hotel tonight. I’ll leave it up to you if you want to tell Andy he’s getting archery pointers from the real Hawkeye or not.”

“Heh, he’d never believe me.” The man quickly jotted down his email and handed the pen and card back to Phil. He was just about to open his mouth to thank Phil again when Clint hissed sharply and brought his right hand up to clutch his left shoulder. Pain was evident on his face, and Phil’s heart jumped to his throat.

“Clint? Are you—“

“Fine. I’m fine. Shoulder just…cramped up on me. I’m okay.” Clint’s voice was tight and strained even as he brought up a fake smile and awkwardly rolled his shoulder. They were going to need to eat soon so Phil could make sure the man took the medicine Dr. Banner had sent along with them.

Giving a small nod, Phil pocketed the card and stooped to pick the bags up again. “We should get going. It was an honor to meet you, Hawkeye. Keep up the great work.”

The teen Hawkeye grinned brightly, promising that he would, and waved as Phil carefully led Clint away. Clint leaned on the agent for a few steps before he pushed himself upright and rolled his shoulders in small circles. Phil kept an eye on him as they made their way back to the parking garage. He tossed their bags into the trunk before pulling out the pill bottle to tuck safely into his pocket. Clint wasn’t going to like having to take them, but Phil hoped that maybe he wouldn’t put up too much of a fight about it.

Securing the car again, Phil checked his phone for a moment before he gave a curt nod and looked back at Clint. “Feelin’ up for a little bit more of a walk? There’s a restaurant about three blocks from here that I _think_ you might enjoy.”

Clint leaned against the door of the car for a moment, arms folded over his chest and clearly trying to look the part of the reluctant travel partner. Phil hoped that in reality, Clint was glad he was getting to see more of the country without it being work related. It was a vacation, after all. A “Hey, sorry you’re dying. Take the next two months off and travel the nation until you croak” kind of vacation, but still. He watched as Clint pulled in a slow, steady breath, and carefully pushed himself off the car with a shrug.

“I’m up for it if you are.”

Phil nodded and motioned for Clint to follow him. It wasn’t a long walk to the place he’d had in mind, but he took it slow anyway. In front of them, Chase Field and US Airways Center rose up majestically. His phone still in hand, Phil managed to switch to the camera fast enough to snap a couple of pictures of Clint staring at Chase Field in awe. Realistically, it would be impossible for them to visit every baseball field and hockey arena in the country before their time was up, but being able to take Clint up close to at least one ballpark was the best that he could do.

Phil had to physically pull Clint to the right, dragging his attention away from the baseball stadium, so that they could walk the last block and a half to Alice Cooper’stown Bar and Grill. Great green iron fences partitioned off an empty beer garden and led the way up a short set of steps to the main doors. Miniature bronze baseball bats served as door handles and from the outside, the narrow brick building didn’t look like anything more than a typical, run of the mill, bar. The inside, though, had them both drawing up short.

Inside Cooper’stown was an eclectic mesh of rock music and sports memorabilia. Albums lined one wall right alongside photos of sports stars. A Phoenix Coyotes hockey jersey hung from the rafters, bearing the name COOPER on the back. Music more to Tony Stark’s tastes blasted from the speakers while TVs above the bar soundlessly rolled footage of a baseball game taking place in another city.

As Clint stared around in wonder, his jaw slightly slack, a petite brunette with the trademark Cooper eye makeup stepped up in front of them. Dressed as waitresses in most sports bars were, in tight pants and an even tighter low cut black top, she smiled at them both as she tucked a couple of menus under her arm.

“Hey, sweethearts!” she called over the music. “Just the two of ya’s?”

Phil nodded, reaching out without even looking to grab Clint’s shirt before he could wander off. The girl’s smile turned to a laugh as she nodded.

“Table or bar?”

“Table, please.” Phil gently pushed Clint in front of him as they started to walk.

“Sure thing. This way.”

Phil smiled a little sadly as he followed Clint, whose head was constantly moving: left, right, up, straight ahead, right, back to left. He was desperate to soak everything in. From the decorative tabletops to the lineup of autographed guitars in display cases, all the way down to the silver Sharpie signatures scrawled across the walls.

As they were seated in a slightly quieter corner of the restaurant, Phil set his phone and the pill bottle on the table next to him before picking up the menu. He didn’t have to look to know that Clint’s attention shifted to the bottle and he instantly knew that what was inside was for him. Phil’s stomach sank slightly as he looked back down at the menu. Neither of them wanted to think about the pills.

“Go ahead and get whatever you want, Barton. Fury’s treat,” Phil said with a mischievous smile.

“Is this whole trip on Fury?”

“Mmm. Pretty much. When we get to the airport again, wanna send him a picture message with the text ‘Wish you were here’?”

Clint actually snorted out a laugh as he shook his head, mouthing out a silent and exaggerated, ‘No.’

At that moment another young woman approached their table, dressed similarly to the hostess but with a smile that looked very out of place on her Gothed out face. Her jet black hair was pulled up into two pigtails, held firmly in place with hot pink skull-n-crossbones rubber bands.

“Evenin’ fellas. My name’s Steph, I’ll be your server tonight. Start ya’s off with something to drink? Couple of beers? Sodas?”

Phil set his menu aside, thought for a moment and shrugged. “I’ll just have a root beer, please?”

Steph nodded and turned her unnaturally bright green eyes to Clint.

“Ice water. Uh…with lemon. Thanks.”

With another nod and a promise that she’d be right back with their drinks, Steph turned in a flurry of black hair and scooted off towards the bar. Phil watched Clint, a frown creasing his features. While water or beer was usually more Clint’s style, it was very rare and odd that he wouldn’t order a soda with his meal while they were out and about. It broke his heart when he put together the reasons why Clint ordered water instead. It was less likely to cramp up his stomach. They needed to keep him well hydrated.

The silence between them was broken when Phil set his menu down and pointed to the very top of the Snacks and Starters page.

“This sounds good. _The Presidential_ ,” he read, “ _A giant platter with Spinach Dip, Chips, Salsa, Crispy Shrooms and Zukes, Pork Sliders, Chicken Tenders and Fries. Served with tomato sauce and ranch._ ”

Phil lifted his eyes to meet Clint’s and shrugged. “Whaddya think?”

Clint sat silent for a moment, slowly looking the menu over before giving a small nod. “I think Sitwell would cream his jeans if he ever set foot in this place and saw their menu.”

 

* * *

 

Forty-five minutes later, both men sat staring at what was left of their appetizers only supper. They’d ended up ordering _The Presidential_ and a side of _Iron Man Nachos_ (tortilla chips with pork green chili, jalapeños and salsa). Clint only nibbled at the chips for the nachos, and both he and Phil agreed taking a picture of them to send to Stark was probably a good idea. Not like the man needed another ego boost but, well, it at least let him know they were thinking of him.

Phil nudged a few fries over toward Clint. “They were on your side.”

Clint groaned, shaking his head as he pushed them back towards Phil. “Bull…they were on your side. Eat up, Coulson.”

“I’m too old for eating contests, Barton. It won’t end well.”

“For everyone?”

“No. Mostly just for me.”

A laugh bubbled out of Clint, and Phil smiled brightly as Steph brought the check over for them and cleared the platters away. She promised to bring them both one last refill before they left, giving them time to let their overworked tummies process what had just happened to them.

Phil slipped a plain, black credit card into the holder and set it back down on the edge of the table. When their refills appeared, he moved to pick the temporarily forgotten orange bottle up off the table. He read it over carefully before knocking one white tablet out into his hand.

“Dr. Banner said that you’re supposed to take one of these at night and in the morning, never on an empty stomach.”

“How come? What, is it like in Gremlins? No feeding past midnight, no bright lights, and whatever you do, don’t get any water on me?”

“I dunno,” Phil shook his head as he dropped the pill into Clint’s hand and sat back. “I’d rather not find out though. At least not until I refresh my memory on how they defeated Spike the first time.”

Clint downed the pill dry before he reached for his water. Making a face, he scrunched his nose at Coulson. “Thought his name was Stripe.”

“I honestly don’t know, Clint. Last time I saw that movie was when it first came out in theaters. I was twenty.”

“Mm…I liked _Gremlins 2_ , better, anyway.” Clint smirked as he sipped at his water and watched Phil sign the receipt.

“Heathen.” Phil slid his SHIELD credit card back into his wallet before putting his phone and the pill bottle into his front pockets. Taking a breath, he pushed himself away from the table and slowly stood. It was going to be a semi-torturous walk back to their hotel, for both of them. “C’mon, Gizmo. Let’s get you back to the hotel.”

 

* * *

 

The walk back to the hotel, though only four blocks, still took a bit longer than it should have. Phil made excuses to go slow: wanting to watch the Lightrail as it went by, a rock in his shoe that appeared out of nowhere and needed to be taken care of, just wanting to walk and enjoy the spring air of the desert. It was obvious Clint knew why Phil was going slowly, and Phil was lucky Clint hadn’t just grabbed him and shaken him. He was half-waiting for Clint to yell at him, “I’m not dead yet! I can still walk just fine! You don’t have to go slow because of me! I can fucking handle it!”

They’d stopped off at the parking garage to grab their bags out of the trunk before getting checked in and up to their shared room. On instinct, Clint took the bed by the window before starting a sweep, Phil doing the same as he set his own bag down on the bed closest to the door. The pair had been on too many missions together, shared space too many times to be awkward and clumsy around each other as they moved from one side to the other checking things out.

Satisfied, Phil moved to pull his laptop out of his bag and situated himself on his bed, toeing his shoes off as he went. He glanced over at Clint and gave a small smile.

“You’d better take a shower and hit the sack. We’ve got another early day tomorrow. Kind of a long drive up to the Canyon. I thought we could spend the day up there, though. Take your gear with you, and we can probably even find a place for you to shoot for awhile.” He quickly turned back to his login screen as he typed in his password and watched the computer whir to life.

He could feel Clint’s eyes on him for a long moment, before the sounds of sheets rustling signaled movement. From the corner of his eye, Phil watched as Clint dug a pair of SHIELD issued sweats from his bag, along with the small collection of toiletries Phil had packed for him, and disappeared into the bathroom.

Hearing the water turn on, Phil grabbed his phone. Earlier, he’d made it as far as he could on the reservations page for the next portion of their trip as he could get without needing to call and confirm his credit card number and information. He spoke with the woman on the other end of the line for a few moments, laughing softly and nodding as he confirmed everything she read back and they set things in place. They would be picked up at the airport and taken directly to the specified hotel. Once there, they’d be able to check in and pick up their tickets for the parks and be set to go.

Sometimes it paid to have connections not many others had.

Closing out of his web browser, Phil brought up his messenger, waited for it to load, and smiled when he saw his mother’s name lit up in the sidebar. The woman was a perpetual night owl. He clicked on her name and hit the button to call. It didn’t take but a moment for her grainy and slightly delayed image to appear on his screen. Her grey eyes crinkled in the corners like his did when he smiled.

“Well hello there, stranger,” she teased, smiling brightly at him. Phil huffed a soft laugh and settled himself back into the pillows propped against the headboard.

“Hi, Ma. What are you doing still up? It’s almost midnight there, isn’t it?”

“Shank of the evening, Bud. What about you? Where are you? Working?”

His mom knew he what did for a living; she’d known since the day he was recruited into SHIELD and he’d said his days in the Rangers were over. It surprised a lot of people when they found out he had told her exactly who he worked for. _“We’re not a secret organization. Just lesser known.”_

“Vacation. Forced vacation. I’m in Phoenix right now. Went to the comic convention and tomorrow heading up to the Grand Canyon.” He grinned as he spoke. His mother just smiled and shook her head.

“Knew they’d force a vacation on you eventually,” she smirked. “Well, good. I’m glad you’re out relaxing for a while and enjoying yourself.”

The door to the bathroom creaked open, a flood of steam rushing out as Clint dried himself off and finished getting ready for bed. The sound of the tiny exhaust fan was picked up by the laptop microphone and had Phil’s mother’s eyebrow arching questioningly.

“Apparently _really_ enjoying yourself, Phillip?”

Phil rolled his eyes as he glanced off camera and then back at her. “It’s Clint, Mother.”

“ _Clint_? Clint’s on vacation with you?” The woman’s smile nearly split her face in two as she sat a little straighter, shifting as if trying to see through her computer and into areas of Phil’s room not reached by his webcam. “That’s fantastic! Are you two—“

“No. It’s,” Phil shook his head and drew in a deep breath. “It’s complicated and a long story. That I’ll be happy to tell you in about a week? When he and I get to Chicago and stay with you for a few days?”

There was a moment’s pause as his mom watched him carefully, scrutinizing him as best as she could over webcam. When she finally sighed heavily and nodded, there was a frown etched on her features.

“There’s something you’re not telling me and I don’t like that, but yes. Of course you guys are more than welcome to stay with me. That shouldn’t be a problem. Do I need to pick you up from the airport?”

“No, I’ll rent a car. There’s a few things we’re gonna do while in town, and then we're gonna drive out to Iowa for a little while.”

She nodded.

“Well, I’m glad you boys are gonna be coming out. I finally get to meet the man who’s had you so—“

Phil’s eyes widened slightly as he looked up in time to see Clint step out of the bathroom and toss his clothes onto the chair. His hair was still wet, and his body still damp, and the sweats hung off his lean hips in a way that really shouldn’t be legal. Clearing his throat to cover the sound of his mother’s voice, Phil cast a quick smile toward Barton.

“Clint. Say hi to my mom.” His words cut off the rest of her sentence and Clint lifted an eyebrow as he turned back towards the bed.

“You’re talkin’ to your mom?” Clint was already moving to fall onto the bed next to Phil. He pressed in close, bare shoulders and chest coming into view as he flashed a carefree smile at the screen.

“Hey Mama C!”

“Clint! How ya doin’, sweetheart?”

Clint’s smile and mannerisms were loose as he played the part of a man at the top of his game. “Strivin’ and survivin’, ma’am.”

“You keeping my baby out of trouble?”

“Pft. No.”

“I didn’t think so.” Mrs. Coulson smiled and laughed as she looked between the two men on her screen. Phil could already see the gears turning in her head, knew the way she was looking at him meant she knew he still hadn’t come out and told Clint how he felt.

Phil cleared his throat as he pointedly glanced at his watch and nudged Clint’s arm gently.  
“I’m gonna let ya go, Ma. We need to get some sleep so we’re not zombies in the morning. I’ll talk to you later.” The look he cast her clearly conveyed his wish for her not to say anything about their upcoming visit. She nodded in understanding.

“Get some rest, boys. You both look exhausted. Love you both.”

Clint ducked his head as he mumbled an awkward farewell and slipped across the small gap between the beds to settle down into his own.

The video feed came to an end but before Phil could shut down his Skype, a text message came through instead.

**_Julia Coulson:_** _I still say he is absolutely adorable, sweetheart. And you two look so good together! You need to tell him before he gets away! I’d like very much to one day call him my son-in-law._

Phil cast a quick glance to where Clint was sliding himself under the layers of blankets. His back was to Phil, and Phil took a moment to appreciate the way those tight muscles worked and flexed under taut skin. Those muscles that every day were slowly, relentlessly, being attacked by an unknown alien disease. He turned his attention back to his screen and sighed.

**_P. Coulson:_** _I know, Ma. I’ll call you later. Love you. Good night._

Shutting his laptop down and tucking it back into his bag, Phil grabbed up his own sleep clothes and slipped off to take a quick shower. When he emerged not more than ten minutes later, Clint was already fast asleep and snoring gently. With a heavy sigh, Phil slid under the blankets of his own bed, turned off the light and waited for restless sleep to pull him under.

 

* * *

 

The three and a half hour drive from Phoenix to the Grand Canyon National Park was every bit as long as Phil had promised it would be. Clint had, thankfully, slept through most of the drive, but then Phil knew he would. The archer could stay awake and alert on a perch, staring down a scope for twenty-four plus hours and not so much as yawn. Put him in a car, though, and two things happened: first, he would announce he was hungry and want to know when they’d be stopping for food; second, after having filled his stomach and being assured that Phil did know where he was going, Clint would close his eyes and slip off to sleep for the duration of the trip. Somehow he instinctually knew when to wake up just before they arrived at their destination.

It wasn’t quite noon yet when they got to the park and headed for the Welcome Center. Phil had made sure Clint had taken the morning dose of the medication Stark and Banner had concocted and had promised him they’d grab some snacks and bottles of water to carry with them on their hike. Phil was all for going out wandering and stretching his legs again -- he was ready to take in the majestic sight of the carved out canyon walls, to sit and watch Clint lie on his stomach and peer straight down at the river a mile below them.

Phil’s heart warmed and then broke to see Clint’s smile as he swung his bow case up onto his back and insisted that Phil follow him for a change. They hiked for a long while, soaking in the warm Arizona sun and letting the breeze rustle through their hair -- neither having bothered to do anything with theirs that morning except to smooth down the more spectacular parts of bed-head that could be seen. They slipped by the tour groups, families, and lovers, and made their way towards areas that looked lesser traveled, not nearly as congested.

Clint led Phil further and further along until finally finding an outcropping he apparently liked. Bushes and a sad looking tree were growing along one side of the outcrop, casting a wide shadow across the smooth rock platform. Together, the two moved to settle themselves under the tree, Phil with his back pressed against the trunk and Clint sitting cross-legged, elbows on his knees and chin propped on his hands. It didn’t take a genius to figure out the sniper was taking in his surroundings and keeping a watchful eye out for anything suspicious that might try to spring on them.

Phil decided to let Clint do just that. At least for awhile.

“Barton?” Phil finally asked, reaching out to gently touch Clint’s shoulder.

The response was rough and gravelly, and Clint had to down some more of his water before he could speak. “Yeah?”

“You okay?”

There was a long, silent pause and Phil thought for sure he wasn’t going to get an answer. About to let the subject drop, he turned his eyes out over the horizon just as Clint began to speak.

“Would you be okay if you were me right now?” Clint’s voice was quiet, yet surrounded by vast amounts of nothingness and the gaping chasm before them, it sounded so much louder.

The words wrapped around Phil’s lungs and made it hard to breathe for a moment.

“No,” he finally answered, just as quietly, intently looking down at his hands, “I think I’d be doing the same as you right now. Trying to pretend that I am, but really I’d be screaming in terror inside.”

Clint huffed a soft laugh, nodded, but kept his back to Phil. “Yeah. That’s about right.”

Silence fell over them once more as birds soared through the sky and dove down at breakneck speeds toward the canyon floor. The few scattered white clouds floated lazily above them, languidly dragging their shadows across the desert and promising that somewhere in the distance, people were going to get one hell of a rainstorm later. It was the kind of comfortable silence Phil was used to sharing with Clint. The kind of silence that allowed both of them to let their minds wander and drop their guards enough to speak freely to each other.

“So,” Clint finally said, drawing his knees to his chest and wrapping his arms around his legs, “who’s leading your new team while you’re here babysitting me?”

Phil frowned.

“I’m not babysitting you, Clint. I volunteered for this. I told you that before; I know you don’t like being forced to sit around and do nothing.”

“Yeah, sure.”

His frown deepened, but Phil knew better than to press the issue any further. Now wasn’t the time. Drawing in a deep breath, he sighed, tilting his head back to watch the clouds.

“Agent May is watching out for them while I’m on stand down. And I’m sure Ward is giving her just as hard a time as he has been me.”

Clint’s shoulders fell back a bit as his spine straightened. Slowly, he turned to tilt his head, not quite looking back at Phil, but at least making the attempt to.

“Ward? Grant Ward? He’s a sniper, isn’t he?”

Phil quirked a brow and gave a small smirk. It was endearing the way Clint sometimes became territorial and possessive over him. It was a jealous streak that ran through the younger man and was the cause of so many juniors turning tail and running the other way anytime they dared get too close to Coulson.

“He has some sniper training, yes.” Phil nodded. Shifting a little, he pushed himself away from the tree trunk and moved to sit shoulder to shoulder with his former asset. It hadn’t been fair to Clint, to any of the Avengers really, to be made to believe that Phil was dead for so long. He knew it’d hurt Barton deeply, to have yet another person he cared for seemingly abandon him.

Carefully, he rested his hand on Clint’s arm.

“He has sniper training, but he’ll never be as good as you.” Phil kept his voice soft, sincere, as he spoke. “I trust him because I have to. I’ve always trusted you because you’ve never given me a reason not to.”

Clint’s head turned and he stared at Phil for a moment. Phil could see the gears working behind those blue-green eyes and knew what Clint was thinking --that he had given everyone plenty of reasons not to trust him. The major one – which everyone from Director Fury on down to SHIELD psychologists and the rest of the Avengers still insisted wasn’t his fault – being that damn Helicarrier attack. Every agent had a moment (or two...dozen) that would forever be with them, and Phil knew that that was one of those moments; it was going to wind up sticking with Clint, and it would probably haunt him for the rest of his days.

After a minute of no response, Phil frowned. His lips pressed together in a tight thin line, Phil simply stared back at Clint. He wanted to tell Clint that he didn’t blame him for what had happened. He didn’t blame his death on Clint, whether Clint believed it or not.

He also wanted to tell Clint that he was, and had been for some time now, in love with him. He wanted to pull Clint into his arms and hold him close, kiss him senseless and promise he wasn’t going to let the man die. Even though they were marking things off Clint’s list, Phil was determined not to let him die.

This wasn’t the right time though.

Phil took a moment just to look Clint over before he finally broke his gaze and glanced away. He checked his watch and sighed. They still had about an hour’s walk back to the car, and they would have to get moving soon so they weren’t walking in the dark. He swallowed around the lump in his throat as he moved to push himself back to his feet, dusting his jeans off before holding his hand out to help Clint up; Clint’s hand warm and strong and calloused in all the right places to prove his life wasn’t one of luxury.

He watched as Clint dusted himself off and turned to face the canyon once more. For a brief moment, Phil feared Clint would just let himself tumble over the edge and be done with it. That wasn’t Clint Barton’s way though. Barton was scrappy, a fighter straight from the get go. He was the man who wouldn’t let a broken leg keep him from his job. A cold or the flu would get the bare minimum amount of rest, plenty of fluids, a couple shots of straight vitamin C and he’d be on his way to wherever SHIELD sent him. No. Phil knew Clint wasn’t going to just give up that easily and take matters into his own hands.

Instead, Clint shrugged his bow case off his back and set it down to start opening it. He didn’t say a word, so neither did Phil. Phil didn’t need to ask what the other was doing; he already knew what was about to happen.

Slowly, methodically, Clint removed his bow, a single arrow, and a silver Sharpie from the black case. He uncapped the marker and after handing his compound bow to Phil to hold, carefully printed along the shaft.

_**Barton, Clinton F. “Hawkeye” 05/25/13** _

Tossing the capped marker back into his case, Clint took the bow back, nocked the arrow and stepped closer to the edge. Phil moved to stand a little closer in order to watch. With the ease of motion that had become just as automatic and second nature to him as breathing, Clint drew the string back, aimed a mile down, and released. The arrow zipped through the air, no doubt finding a crack or weak spot between two rocks to embed itself.

That wasn’t quite what Phil had been expecting. Frowning, he turned his attention back to Clint. “Why did you do that?”

Clint stayed quiet for a moment, just staring down at the river below.

“I always thought,” he started at last, “that if I ever made it out here, I’d want to shoot an arrow straight across. Just to do it, ya know? Be able to go home and say I shot an arrow clear across the Grand Canyon. Not many people can say that.”

Phil gave a small laugh and shook his head. “No, I don’t think they can. So why didn’t you do it?”

Slowly, blue-green eyes lifted to meet his. There was sadness there, pain that he was trying so hard not to let show. “If I shot it across, nobody would find it. There’s a hiking trail down there, probably gets used quite a bit.” He shrugged slowly, adding, “Not many people can go home with an authentic, autographed Hawkeye arrow.”

Clint wanted it to be found, to not be forgotten. Phil knew from watching the news and keeping tabs while he’d been off that Clint was usually the unseen, unnoticed Avenger, the one who was so often away from the fighting doing what he did best and defending from a distance. Too often, he’d been forgotten or ignored. He wanted someone to find the arrow so that someone would remember him.

The implication there was enough to pull the air straight out of Phil’s lungs. It took him a full thirty seconds to finally regroup and gather his scattered thoughts and touch Clint’s shoulder again in sympathetic compassion.

“C’mon, Hawkeye. Let’s get going. I don’t wanna try to find our way back to the car in the dark.”

A smirk worked its way across Clint’s face as he packed up his things and eased them onto his back once more. He swiped the bottle of water from Coulson’s grasp, took a swig and handed it back to him.

“Why not, Boss? Where’s your sense of adventure?”

Phil’s own mouth quirked in one corner as they turned to start walking back to the Welcome Center. “Barton, this whole trip is just one giant adventure. Let’s not push things, shall we?”

Clint just laughed and nodded slightly.

 

* * *

 

As he had on the way to the Canyon, Clint slept most of the way back down to Phoenix. Phil had stopped in Flagstaff to get them something to eat so that Clint could take his medication again and to stock himself up on coffee. Not that he felt he might fall asleep while driving, but it was better to be safe than sorry.

He’d driven mostly in silence through the mountains and back down to the flat, bare desert. Phil honestly had no trouble driving just about anywhere. One of the perks of having grown up in a busy city and learning to drive on the Kennedy Expressway, the Eisenhower and Skyway into Indiana. Highways and expressways in any state or country didn’t faze him in the least. He wasn’t very fond of driving at night, but then, who was really?

With Clint asleep in the passenger seat next to him, and the big band CD playing quietly for background noise, Phil put the car onto cruise control and let his mind half wander back to the list in his duffle back at the hotel. Everything was all set up and ready to go for the next leg of their trip, which Phil was truthfully looking forward to a great deal. Then there was the trip back to Chicago, which was going to be a bit scary, but they could handle it. Besides, he wanted his mom to meet Clint. He’d like for his whole family to meet him, but it wasn’t possible. At least not all at once.

Phil’s mind drifted to what else was on the list that they might be able to accomplish. Some of the things just wouldn’t be happening, not in the short amount of time they had. He would have to choose carefully which things to do or not, and hope he’d made the right choice in doing this to begin with.

“You wanna think a li’l quieter, Coulson?” Clint mumbled from his seat, head still resting against the window and arms folded over his chest. “Some of us are tryin’ to sleep.”

Phil chuckled softly. “Sorry. I’ll try to keep it down.”

A quiet hum of acknowledgement slipped from Clint’s lips, and for a moment Phil thought the man had drifted back off to sleep after all. They had just reached Black Canyon City when Clint spoke again.

“When are you planning to tell me Nat gave you my list?”

The question startled Phil slightly, and his foot tapped the brake to take the car off cruise control. He glanced back at Clint and found himself looking right into a pair of rainbow colored eyes. Clint’s file and his identification cards all said the man had blue eyes, but Phil swore his eyes would change from different shades of blues to greens, even on a rare occasion look to be a pale grey-brown. They were a kaleidoscope of colors.

Turning his attention back to the highway, Phil shook his head. “I don’t need to, do I?”

“No, not exactly.” It was Clint’s turn to chuckle softly.

They sat in silence for a long while after that, watching as the glowing lights of Phoenix and her suburbs grew in intensity on the horizon. It was a beautiful sight to see against the stark darkness of the desert surrounding it and Phil almost wished he weren’t the one driving so that he could take out his phone and try to take a picture. Beside him, Clint sat looking out his window, watching the dark scenery speed by.

“We’re not gonna get to everything, you know.” Clint’s voice was quiet and resigned as he stared out into the night sky.

Phil frowned. He wanted to reach over and touch Clint’s shoulder, to clasp his hand and provide silent comfort, but he didn’t. His hands stayed on the wheel and his eyes straight out ahead of them.

“I know.” Phil swallowed thickly and took a deep breath. “We’re gonna do as much as we can though.”

Clint’s head turned just enough to side-eye Phil. When neither of them said anything, he simply nodded and let his head roll back to the right and his gaze fall out over the desert again.

“So, what’s our next grand adventure?”

A slow smile crept up onto Phil’s lips as he huffed a soft laugh and shook his head. “That would ruin the surprise. You’ll find out tomorrow.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Wishes! Fireworks music](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VQVNeBOJe6A) can be found right there. And honestly, I highly recommend listening to it either before this chapter or during the scene, but I was listening to it in order to write the scene and I was in tears. So, yeah. Check that out! 
> 
> Also, apologies for the delay in update. Real Life decided to go nuts on both me and Ralkana. We have our fingers crossed that things will go mostly smoothly from here on out. ...hopefully... =)

* * *

 

When the plane landed in Orlando, it was already almost seven in the evening. They had decided to just stuff their things from Phoenix into their carry-ons and checked bags, so it was easy for them to gather their bags and find the shuttle bus that would take them from the airport to the hotel Phil had chosen for them at the Walt Disney World Resort. It was too late to go to the parks that night, but Phil had the next day perfectly planned out.

It was pretty comical to watch the way Clint’s eyes went wide when he saw the place they were staying -- the Pop Century Resort, with bright and cheery colors and massive character statues everywhere. The buildings were divided into decades, from the 1950s through the 1990s. Phil and Clint would be staying in the 1970s section. Phil had gathered up their bags and hoisted them up onto his shoulders, leaving Clint to carry just his bow case as they walked through the main lobby and out into the quad.

"HOLY SHIT! It's a giant tricycle! And a Rubix Cube! And a Yo-Yo!" Clint nearly spun himself in circles trying to see everything all at once, and Phil knew then that he’d made the right choice in making Disney World one of their first stops on the list. Something deep down told him that had they waited, Clint wouldn’t have had the energy to enjoy the parks. Not like this.

Phil smirked and nodded as he bounced the bags on his shoulder, repositioning them, and started down the path towards their room. "Mmhmm. Giant everything around here it seems."

Clint turned and leveled Phil with a stern and chiding look. "This is no time for jokes, Coulson. This is serious business. This place is insane awesome."

Chuckling, Phil ducked his head in apology.

“You’re absolutely right. I’m sorry. Did you see the giant 8-Trak cassette?” His head bobbed in the direction of the building-sized yellow cassette, and he laughed again at Clint’s gasp of awe.

“I’m never leaving here ever again, Coulson. Ever.” Clint’s words were ones muttered by no doubt countless others – adult and child alike – who had just stepped into a world where age no longer mattered, magic was possible, and wishes were completely and wholeheartedly encouraged.

When they finally made it to their room, after multiple promises on Phil’s part to explore and take hundreds of pictures later, Phil set their bags down just inside the door, while Clint dropped onto the bed closest to the bathroom and sighed.

“So, where are we going to play tomorrow?” Clint shoved himself up onto his elbows, hiding a flinch as both shoulders apparently protested the move.

“Mmhmm. Magic Kingdom for the day, I think. Do you want to get there when the park opens or—“

“Of course I do! What time do they open?” Pulling a park map out of his pocket, Clint scanned it for operating times while Phil set about putting his bag on his own bed, Clint’s on his, and digging around for his sleep clothes.

“I think the bus driver said all the parks open at nine o’clock. Magic Kingdom’s open until eleven p.m.”

Clint gave a sharp nod and folded the map back up.

“Then I guess we’re gonna be at the park at nine.”

Looking back up as Clint stood to take his entire bag into the bathroom with him, Phil nodded and chuckled quietly. Fourteen hours in one park was definitely not going to be easy on Clint, but Phil would make sure they took plenty of breaks, rested in the shade, and got plenty of water throughout the day. It would be fun still, he was sure of it. Given Clint’s reaction to just the resort, how could it not be fun?

 

* * *

 

They didn’t end up getting to the Magic Kingdom in time for the opening ceremony, but that turned out just fine. It still took them forever to get through the front gate, even after the park had been open for an hour or so.

Phil watched from the corner of his eye as Clint gaped up at the Town Square Station above the park entrance. The sound of a genuine steam locomotive whistling and chugging out of the station had Clint craning his neck as they walked through the tunnel and out into the bright and shining Town Square. Directly in front of them was a grand flagpole that already had a line winding down the pathway toward where Mickey Mouse stood signing autographs, and beyond that, towering above the rest of the park, was Cinderella’s castle.

Main Street USA was built and designed to feel as if the guests had stepped back to a simpler time. Cast members wore old time cabbie hats and high laced boots, looking very much the part of a turn of the century worker. There were men in white baggy button ups with knickers and socks to match, carrying bundles of Mickey and Minnie head shaped balloons, street car kiosks full of autograph books and souvenir trading pins and lanyards, and lines all over the place to get pictures taken with the characters spread out around the area.

It wasn’t hard at all for either man to get caught up in the magic and wonder of the park. Their first stop was City Hall, at Phil’s insistence, to pick up Clint’s “First Visit” button. Phil had tried to convince Clint to get a Guest Assistance Card, to help them through attractions with less of a wait time, but Clint wouldn’t allow it.

They hopped on the Roy O. Disney train when it pulled into the station and lazily rode it around the park. It was a bit cramped, two men sitting on the same bench, but Clint wasn’t complaining, so Phil wasn’t going to object. They sat with their sides flush to each other, soaking in each other’s body heat and listening as the pre-recorded narration explained what they were passing. When the train pulled back into the Main Street station twenty minutes later, they made their way further into the park, stopping to watch the musicians play for a moment or two before continuing on.

They took their time wandering. Phil let himself be pulled through Adventureland, skipping over Tinker Bell’s Magical Nook because no, they did not want to meet Tinker Bell and her Fairy friends. Instead, they made their way to the Swiss Family Treehouse, and Clint insisted he was fine to climb all the way to the top. Once up there, it took some convincing -- and maybe a little bribing -- to get him back down again. They took a ride on Aladdin’s magic carpet, went on a Jungle Cruise, and Phil even endured the pain of sitting through the Enchanted Tiki Room, with its animatronics of tropical birds and colorful flowers and annoyingly catchy song. Both men agreed that Pirates of the Caribbean was by far the best in the area, and if they had time, they’d go back to ride it again later.

From there it was on to Frontierland, where wasn’t a whole lot to do, but Phil had managed to get them FastPasses for Big Thunder Mountain and Splash Mountain. While they waited for the time on their tickets to come up, they wandered out to Tom Sawyer’s Island, and Phil laughed out loud as Clint told him about being a kid in Iowa and how he'd always wished he could have built a raft to float down the Mississippi. It was the first time either of them had been able to laugh and smile when discussing Clint’s less than wonderful childhood. They made their way back to ride the Mountains, Phil a bit disappointed he had to take his glasses off on both so they didn’t go flying, which meant he saw things in even more of a blur than before, and Clint wanting to ride Splash Mountain again and again. Thankfully, the long line finally dissuaded him and they settled for having lunch instead.

After lunch, the line for the Haunted Mansion was nearly an hour long, but they were willing to wait. Clint leaned on the railing to rest, head tilted back and eyes closed. His nose and cheeks were pink, and they were going to hurt later, though Phil knew he couldn’t talk since he wasn’t any better off. Pulling a sip from his water bottle, Phil looked over the map of the park and the list of scheduled events throughout the day.

“Do you want to see the three o’clock parade or just wander Fantasyland when we’re done here?” he asked, lifting his eyes and smiling softly as he saw Clint do his best to stretch his limbs without hitting anyone around him or cringing in pain. The damn stubborn fool still refused to take the painkillers Bruce had sent with them.

“Where’s it at?”

“It starts in Adventureland and goes through Town Square, where we came in.”

Clint thought for a minute before nodding. “Yeah, we can go hang back out in Town Square for a while. I wanna hit up that bakery we passed this morning, anyway.”

Phil nodded and turned back to the map in his hand. After the parade, they could walk through the tunnel of Cinderella’s castle and back into Fantasyland to pick up where they'd left off. As much as Phil had been told that no Disney experience was complete without going on It’s A Small World, for the sake of their sanity, they would not be going on that particular ride.

“Hey, when we get back to the hotel,” Clint said, breaking the silence and opening his eyes to glance up at Phil as he talked, “Add ‘Watch all fourteen episodes of _Firefly_ in a row’ to the list? I wanna watch an entire series all at once…and it’s either Firefly or that one about those weird cops in New York. I think _Firefly_ ’s easier to get hold of.”

Phil blinked. It was kind of a random request, but it was Clint, so random was to be expected. A bemused look crossed his face as he shrugged and dug a Disney pen out of his pocket to jot a note down on the edge of their time sheet.

“I have no idea what that is, but okay.”

“It’s a show. Only lasted fourteen episodes. Apparently pretty good, Nathan Fillion’s in it so it had to have been good. Created by that Whedon guy or whatever.” Clint waved his hand dismissively as they finally made their way up to the entrance door, only to be told they had to wait just a few minutes longer.

Brows pinched together, Phil tilted his head in question. “Wil Wheaton?”

It must have been a stupid question, given the indignant look Clint leveled him with and the snort of barely covered laughter from the cast member manning the door.

“What? No. The guy who created _Buffy the Vampire Slayer_.”

“Ah. Is that the one that’s ‘Save the cheerleader, save the world’?” Phil wasn’t trying to be difficult; he honestly didn’t know. Aside from the stupid reality shows his DVR recorded for him that he barely had time to watch, Phil really didn’t watch much television.

Still, it was almost worth it to watch Clint’s face fall into an expression that had everyone else suddenly fearing for the Phil’s life. Phil knew he had nothing to worry about though. The ‘Grumpy Cat’ expression that sent junior agents running and even occasionally shut Stark up for a minute was nothing more than Clint’s natural resting face. And it was one that Phil had a hard time taking seriously since Pepper had shown him the comparison between Clint and the internet celebrity cat Tard. Who, yes, looked remarkably like his former asset at times.

“…that’s Heroes. Seriously, Coulson. You’re breakin’ my heart. Have I taught you nothing in the fifteen years you’ve known me?”

Phil froze at those words. He knew Clint was only teasing him but, Jesus, had it really been fifteen years? And for how many of those fifteen had he wished and longed for something he couldn’t have? Their lives weren’t at all an easy path; very few agents ever made it to retirement age. Phil might actually be one of the rare few who would. Well, himself and Nick, since Fury was too stubborn to die or retire.

He was just about to open his mouth to answer when the cast member opened the door and they stepped into the main waiting room, the room that seemingly grew and stretched while they stood there waiting. Thankfully, the subject was dropped and they continued the rest of the ride without it being brought up again.

 

* * *

 

After the parade, Phil and Clint spent the rest of the afternoon wandering through Fantasyland --avoiding It’s a Small World and anything that had to do with the Princesses-- and taking in a few more attractions, including Peter Pan’s Flight and Mickey’s PhilharMagic 3D experience. They were making their way towards Tomorrowland when they, quite literally, nearly walked right into a fox and his attendant.

Clint’s eyes went as wide as saucers, and Phil had to bite back his face-splitting grin as the archer, for once, was at a loss for words. Dressed in a green tunic and hat to match, Robin Hood gave a grand apologetic bow for nearly running into them, and started to saunter off toward wherever he was due to sign autographs. Scrambling, Clint hurried after him, well and truly star struck.

Phil let the smile finally happen as he shook his head and followed, getting there just as Clint handed over his autograph book and told “Robin” how much he'd enjoyed his movie growing up as a kid, how he’d had it nearly memorized since he was five, and that he was an archer too. Robin Hood, of course, seemed truly impressed by this and motioned his insistence they take a photo, miming an archer’s stance together. Clint was the only one who honestly looked the part of an archer, but Phil wasn’t going to ruin the moment for him.

After that, they raced each other on the Tomorrowland Speedway and Phil let Clint sit in the very front on Space Mountain, and if Phil never went on another roller coaster again in his life it’d still be too soon. Surprisingly, Clint really enjoyed Walt Disney’s Carousel of Progress, even with its out of date and somewhat glitchy animatronics. So much so that, since they had time and there wasn’t much of a line, they rode it one more time before continuing on. Phil playfully ignored Clint’s chuckle when Phil mentioned the Carousel of Progress was as old as Phil was, and he wondered sadly how much longer the poor old ride would be around, given the lack of interest.

With the sun sinking lower and lower, people were already beginning to find places around Cinderella’s castle to sit and watch the parade and fireworks. Phil had Clint stake out a spot for them while he went to get their supper. He found Clint sitting on a bench just across the bridge connecting Tomorrowland to Main Street USA, staring up at the castle turrets, a relaxed but thoughtful look on his face.

Though Clint would deny it, Phil could tell he was getting tired. They’d gone on the Carousel of Progress twice to give Clint a chance to sit and not get jostled around for twenty minutes at a time. Sitting down next to him, Phil kept the large frozen Coca-Cola he’d bought for them to share tucked into the crook of his arm and carefully handed over a small paper boat of fries and nuggets.

Clint gave a nod of thanks and shifted the bags down to rest between their feet while they ate. Neither spoke, just sat in comfortable, companionable silence as it finally became dark enough for the Electric Parade to begin. Both only half watched, more interested in people watching than in the brightly lit floats and costumed characters. When the last of the parade disappeared out of sight, the park lights were raised enough again to see by and an announcement was made that the Magic Kingdom’s _Wishes_ nighttime spectacular would be starting soon.

“How’re you holding up?” questioned Phil. He looked at Clint as he took a sip from what was left of their soda and handed it to Clint, who finished it in two gulps and shrugged. He didn’t give a verbal response, but his drooping eyelids, slouched posture, and sluggish movements said enough. Grabbing up their garbage, Clint stood slowly and made his way through the crowd to the trash before coming back, motioning pointedly to the bags at Phil’s feet.

“C’mon, give somebody who needs the bench a place to sit.”

Phil gathered their two bags and moved to follow Clint towards the bridge leading to Tomorrowland. From there, they had a beautiful, unobstructed view of the castle and could rest against the railing if need be. In the pale street lights, Phil let his eyes settle on Clint. He didn’t expect an answer to his question, and knew that if he did get one, it’d only be a lie given so that he wouldn’t worry.

Clint’s shoulder pressed into Phil’s as he motioned to the bag in Phil’s hand.

“Are you ever gonna tell me what you got in Town Square? Or am I gonna hafta wait for you to shower and go spelunking on my own?”

Heat rose in Phil’s cheeks as he ducked his head with an embarrassed laugh. Nodding, he pulled the bag closer, reached in and paused. His eyes met Clint’s, and he took a deep breath. They’d honestly been an impulse buy and half the reason he hadn’t given them to Clint yet was because he wasn’t sure how the man would react to them. On the one hand, they were a Disney tradition. On the other, they were awkward to wear and incredibly silly looking. Still…

Phil finally pulled his hand from the bag, holding the Mouse Ears out to Clint with a shrug.

“Can’t go to Disney World and not get Mouse Ears.”

Clint stared at the hat in Phil’s hand for a long, silent moment, and Phil feared he’d made a mistake by buying them. Finally, Clint lifted his hands to carefully take the silly looking hat from him and run his fingers reverently over the circle on the front. Turning it over, he gave a half laugh as he saw _Clint_ stitched in gold roping cursive on the back. It was so ridiculous looking and yet Phil could see the wetness forming in Clint’s eyes. When Clint turned his head to look at him, Phil’s whole chest seized up. It wasn’t often that anyone was allowed to see the side of Clint that he’d been privy to all day, but what he’d suddenly been granted was a peek at a vulnerability that nearly tore Phil to shreds.

“You better have gotten yourself a pair,” Clint’s voice was tight and rough as he tried to keep his emotions back. “I’m not wearing these silly things by myself.”

Phil’s blush grew as he pulled a second hat out. It was identical, except for the simple initials _PJ_ on the back. At Clint’s questioning and amused look, Phil shrugged and carefully settled the hat on his head, watching as Clint did the same.

“My parents brought me and my brother and sister down when I was nine.” Phil explained, carefully folding the bag up and tucking it into his jeans pocket. “There was just the Magic Kingdom then, and it’d only been open a couple years. They bought me Mouse Ears, and back then everyone called me PJ. It didn’t seem right buying myself Mouse Ears and not having my old nickname on them.”

Clint grinned, a wicked little glimmer in his eyes. It made the hairs on the back of Phil’s neck stand up, and he had to struggle to keep from getting chills.

“So can I call you PJ?”

“No, you may not.”

“Oh c’mon. Dying man’s wish. Lemme call you PJ. Or Peege. How about Peege? You kinda look like a Peege.”

Phil’s head snapped up and he leveled Clint with a tight look. He didn’t like hearing Clint talk so casually about a ‘dying man’s wish’. It took him a moment to pull in a breath before shaking his head again.

“No. Because when you survive this, you’ll keep calling me that, and then my reputation among the junior agents will be blown.”

Cinderella’s castle was cast in a beautiful purple light as music hummed out of the PA system all around them. Clint shook his head, turning his attention back to the castle as the music increased in volume and intensity.

“If you thought I had a chance at survival, we wouldn’t be ticking shit off my stupid bucket list right now.”

The words were nearly lost under the sudden swell of music, the lamps going completely out as the purple changed to an orange glow. Phil’s heart sank straight to his feet and his shoulders slumped. The worst part was, Clint was right. Phil wanted to believe that there was a strong chance Clint would survive. He _did_ believe, but he also knew there was a good chance that he might not.

Orange light faded back into purple, then white and finally into blue before darkening as white flickering shimmers danced across the castle’s stone walls. A female narrator’s voice came through the speakers, and a hushed murmur went through the crowd.

_“When stars are born, they possess a gift or two. One of them is this. They have the power, to make a wish come true.”_ A white orb shot across the sky from the castle’s tallest turret, drawing oohs and aahs from the guests.

A young girl began to sing then, an old rhyme that nearly everyone in the park was familiar with.

_“Star light, star bright. First star I see tonight. I wish I may, I wish I might. Have the wish, I wish tonight. We’ll make a wish, and do as dreamers do. And all our wishes. Will. Come. True…When you wish, upon a star. Makes no difference, who you are. Anything your heart desires will come to you…”_

Phil watched the dark sky as the fireworks soared through the air in time to the music. A new, familiar voice came on, and Clint muttered Jiminy Cricket’s name beside him.

_“Pretty huh? I bet a lot of you folks don’t believe that, about a wish coming true? Do ya?”_

Phil’s throat tightened as Clint move to stand just a little bit closer to him.

_“Well I didn’t either. ‘Course I’m just a cricket, but let me tell ya what made me change my mind. You see the most fantastic, magical things can happen, and it all starts with a wish.”_

The sky fell dark and Phil’s breath caught in his chest when Clint leaned in closer, pointing towards the tallest turret where a small framed, brightly glowing woman had suddenly appeared.

“Look.” Clint’s breath was warm and soft against Phil’s neck, causing him to blink and miss the moment the woman was pushed from the window and sent sailing down a zipline that disappeared somewhere between Tomorrowland and Main Street USA.

Tinker Bell’s arms circled to propel herself forward and as she disappeared from sight, the fireworks resumed high above the castle. A few of the Princesses declared their wishes, Peter Pan wished that no one ever had to grow up, and Pinocchio told Jiminy his wish to become a real boy. Aladdin’s wish for Genie’s freedom came last before the little cricket’s voice returned.

_“Ya know, any wish is possible. All it takes is a little courage to set it free.”_

Clint was still leaning against Phil, having managed to partially wedge himself between Phil and the railing. A strong arm was pressed into his back, and Clint’s hand was resting on the cool metal bar behind them. His heart pounded wildly in his chest as he wished to high heaven and back for so many things. For Clint to be okay. For Tony, Bruce, and the others to find a way to cure the alien infection eating through Clint’s muscles more and more each day. He wished for the courage to tell the man beside him how he felt, and he wished that the feeling wasn’t just one sided.

_“A wish is a powerful thing. Especially when it comes from the heart.”_

A rush of warmth went through him as Clint slowly and hesitantly rested his chin on Phil’s shoulder. Phil didn’t move, he couldn’t move, not even enough to turn his head to glance at Clint, who normally only allowed Natasha to touch and care for him even though he was starved for affection. He didn’t trust easily and didn’t let many people into his heart, but HE was by far one of the most sympathetic and big-hearted men Phil had ever had the privilege to know, and Phil had lost his heart to him years before the Avengers, before Manhattan and Loki and the Pegasus Project, back when it was just the two of them running the ops that no one else was brave enough to take.

He startled a little when Clint’s hand came up to gently pull the Mouse Ears off Phil’s head, followed by his own, and hold them both in one large, knobble fingered hand.

_“Like a boat out of the blue, fate steps in and see’s ya through. When you wish upon a star, your dreams, come true! Sometimes wishes can be granted in the most unexpected ways.”_

For the next few minutes, the pair stood there, close as they could be without actually holding each other. The music played a medley of recognizable Disney songs, and every so often Phil could hear Clint humming along in his ear.

Phil’s mind drifted as he thought about how easy it would be to turn and wrap his arms around Clint’s waist and just bury his nose in the crook of the man’s neck. He thought about what it would be like to turn his head and -- right there on the bridge between lands, under the bright flashes of red and purple, white and blue -- press his lips to Clint’s and not let go. He’d wished for and dreamt about it for far too long, and as Clint still had not lifted his chin off Phil’s shoulder, nor moved to put space between them again, Phil dared to let himself hope that maybe his attraction wasn’t quite so one sided.

Of course, part of him had to step on that hope and remind him that Clint was tired. It was entirely possible he was just leaning on Phil for support and unspoken comfort.

It was as the Blue Fairy’s sweet, kind voice came back over the speakers that Phil realized something was off. Clint had turned his head so that his cheek was on Phil’s shoulder, and a shuddered breath rattled against Phil’s back before he felt the warmth of tears soak through his T-shirt. He turned his head just slightly only to have Clint roll his own and press his eyes into Phil’s shoulder.

_”Remember, we must always believe in our wishes. For they are the magic of the world. Now, let’s all put our hearts together, and make a wish come true.”_

Chest tight and a lump hard in his throat, Phil reached back to take Clint by the wrists. Without a word, he pulled Clint’s arms around him, held his hands close and just stood there as his friend cried into his shirt. No one was paying any attention to them, and Phil knew how much Clint needed to get _some kind_ of emotion out, so if it took a fireworks display and Disney characters talking about wishes and dreams to get Clint to break, so be it.

When the grand finale began to roar overhead, Phil carefully turned, wrapping his arms around Clint’s waist. Clint shifted to put his own arms over Phil’s shoulders, pressing his face into Phil’s neck until after the thunderous applause and cheers died down. The street lamps came back on, and people started drifting away. The park would remain open for another hour, but many guests were already making their way towards the exits.

Phil held Clint tight, hand gently smoothing up and down his back as he rested his cheek against Clint’s head. “C’mon. Let’s get back to the hotel. You can shower and get some sleep.”

Clint gave a soft sniffle as he nodded and slowly pulled back. Taking a deep breath, he swiped at his eyes with the back of his hand, ducked his head as he looked away, and did his best to pull himself back together. When his blue-green eyes finally lifted to meet Phil’s, Clint was able to give at least a partial smile and put the Mouse Ears back on Phil’s head with a small nod.

“Yeah. That sounds like a good idea.”

 

* * *

 

The next day was overcast and humid, a sign that a storm would be coming in at some point. It really did nothing for people’s moods, but the pair trekked to Epcot anyway, despite Clint feeling a bit sluggish after spending the entire day wandering through Magic Kingdom.

Phil went to get their FastPass tickets for _Soarin’_ , a sensory ride that was as close to the hang gliding that was on Clint’s list as they were probably going to get, before taking Clint on the most iconic ride of the park, Spaceship Earth. The ride had been changed and “reimagined” several times since the last time Phil had been there, which meant it was a new and exciting experience for both of them. They survived a trip to Mars on _Mission: Space_ and somehow managed to become test dummies for General Motors at _Test Track_.

They played around with prototypes and gadgets of tomorrow in Innoventions before their time for _Soarin’_ finally came up. Clint didn’t seem to mind at all that they weren’t _actually_ going hang gliding, since the ride lifted them fifty feet in the air and took them over some of California’s most notable landmarks, complete with cool breeze on their faces and the occasional smell of fresh snow and pine trees. Phil wasn’t often able to tear his eyes away from the screen in front of them, but every time he managed to, it was to the even more wonderful sight of Clint’s awed expression and enormous grin.

By the time they were both tired and ready to call it a night, the storm that had been threatening all afternoon had moved in, soaking everything in its path including them as they ran for the shuttle bus.

They were finally back in their hotel room, showered, warmed and in dry clothes, ready to settle in, when Clint looked at Phil with a sleepy smile.

“Hey, Coulson?”

“Mm?” Phil looked up from his computer screen, his hands stilling so he could give Clint his full attention. The man looked exhausted, but in a good way. His blue-green eyes were bright and shining, and his smile was just this side of sweet.

“I’m actually havin’ a lot of fun. Ya know…despite everything.”

Phil’s own smile softened. They _were_ having a lot of fun, and Phil thought he could really get used to this sort of life. No demands, no alien invasions he had to try and clean up after, no signing dozens and dozens of forms just to get Stark off whatever lists he’d managed to land himself on this time. It was just him and Clint. Bittersweet as it was, he was still enjoying the time he was getting to spend with Clint.

“Yeah. I am too, Clint. Get some sleep. It’s supposed to rain all day tomorrow, so maybe we’ll just stay in and watch that _Firefox_ \--“

“ _Firefly_ \--“

“Yeah, that one.”

Clint gave a quiet hum as he rolled onto his stomach and tucked his arms under the pillow. His head was turned so he was still looking at Phil with that soft, sleepy little smile tugging at his lips as he closed his eyes.

“That sounds good,” His voice was already thick and slow with impending sleep. “‘Night… Phil…”

Phil waited for Clint to drift off completely, just sitting and watching for a moment before he turned his laptop off and set it on the nightstand. Getting up, he pulled the covers up over Clint just a little more, untangling them so he wouldn’t panic in the night, and gently smoothed his hand over Clint’s soft, thick hair.

“Goodnight, Clint.”

 

* * *

 

The following day, both men woke to the gentle rumble of thunder, Clint grumbling about Phil getting someone to contact Thor to knock the noise off. They each showered before rushing through the rain to get to the hotel café for brunch, since they’d both slept well past ten-thirty for the first time either of them could remember. They spent a good long while in the café just drinking coffee and stealing bites of food off each other’s plates, laughing and joking in a way they hadn’t been able to do in quite some time.

They played around in the gift shop for a little while, Clint insisting Phil try on one of the green Goofy hats with the floppy black ears and Phil threatening bodily harm if Clint ever showed anyone the picture he took. He had a reputation to uphold! Which, he knew of course, meant the moment his back was turned, Clint had zapped the picture off to Natasha and from there God only knew who would wind up with a copy of it.

When the rain finally let up, Phil bought them some snacks and a few bottles of water before they rushed back to the room and settled in to watch all of Firefly, start to finish, on Phil’s laptop. It was a decent enough show, and Phil had to admit by the time the third episode was over he had developed quite the soft spot for Wash and Kaylee, while Clint found he liked Mal, Simon, and Shepherd Book the most.

Halfway through the fifth episode, Clint did a full body stretch, fingers reaching out far beyond the edge of the bed and toes curling tight into the pillow. His whole body trembled and suddenly froze, Clint gasping out terrible, pained sounds as all his muscles cramped. Phil was instantly up and moving to gently place his hand on Clint’s back.

“Clint? Are you okay?” Phil did well to keep the fear from his voice, instead falling into Agent Coulson mode as he did a visual check to see what was wrong with Clint. He saw out of the corner of his eye the moment Clint rolled his lips between his teeth, kaleidoscope colored eyes clenched tight.

“Clint?”

Clint’s eyes finally snapped open, a sharp gasp leaving his mouth in a painful sob. His body collapsed and sank further into the mattress, his arms dangling off the end of the bed from the elbows down. His breathing was labored and shaky, and Phil felt his own chest tighten. Phil was well familiar with that sound. He and Clint had been on a number of ops that had gone pear shaped and more often than not, it was Barton who wound up injured and breathing hard and shaky trying to fight back the pain.

“Fuck…” The word was muffled by the comforter, rough and harsh as Clint fought to catch his breath again. “Fucking _fuck_ …”

Without a second thought, Phil gently pulled Clint into a sitting position, moving him slowly and carefully so as not to set off another cramp attack, until his own back was once again propped against the headboard and Clint was settled back against him. To his credit, Clint didn’t fight or push away when he suddenly found himself snuggled up against Phil, which told Phil a number of things, none of which he wanted to dwell on at the moment.

He gently rubbed Clint’s arms, starting at the shoulders and making his way down to Clint's hands, thumbs smoothing light circles as he went. He shushed Clint's weak protests, his firm grip tenderly working the muscles, making his way back up to Clint's shoulders and across the back of his neck and down, wrapping his arms around Clint’s chest. He debated on trying to soothe the other muscles, offering to rub down Clint's chest and stomach, his legs and back. Phil wondered if he’d be allowed; would he be shoved away, or would Clint welcome his help?

Clint's eyes were closed, wet tears clinging to his lashes, as he rested his head against Phil's shoulder and tried to breathe normally. Just the fact it was still a struggle and the man hadn't moved told Phil just how much pain Clint had been in. He rested his cheek against Clint's, offering silent comfort while he gently moved his hands from the top of Clint's sternum to just over the waistband of his jeans and back up again, tenderly stroking and petting.

"Shhh...it's okay, Clint. It's okay. You're okay, just breathe with me." Phil took in a deep breath to demonstrate, one strong hand resting on Clint's chest while the other rubbed up and down his arm and shoulder again. For a moment, Clint resisted, not wanting to give in to the pain.

"It's just me, Clint. You don't have to be strong, or pretend it doesn’t hurt. I'm not going to think any less of you, you know that. Just breathe with me."

It took another couple of seconds, but finally Clint let Phil set the pace of their breathing, his lungs soon following along with the steady rise and fall of Phil’s chest.

Phil pressed his cheek to Clint's soft hair and smiled sadly. "Good. You're doing great. Just keep breathing for me."

Clint shook his head, a small sob falling from his lips as he finally opened his eyes. They were dark with pain and fear. Never had his body betrayed him in such a way, and it was terrifying for both of them. Phil knew Clint was scared -- no one could be facing what he was and not be frightened out of their mind.

He shushed Clint one more time, right hand coming up to gently stroke through thick hair that smelled faintly of some kind of rustic, woodsy shampoo. Phil's eyes fell shut as he breathed it in. This might be as close to Clint as he was ever going to get, and he was going to take advantage of that.

"I hate this..." Clint mumbled, his body falling lax against Phil's. "I hate… everything about this..."

A tightness formed in Phil's chest. Frowning, he sighed. "I know. I wish I could help more."

"It’s not yours to fix, Coulson." Clint’s voice was bitter as he took a deep breath and slowly let it out, blinking up at the ceiling and not even caring when one stray tear rolled its way down his cheek and under his ear.

Phil wasn't sure what to say. He'd always taken it upon himself to make sure Clint was taken care of and treated properly whenever he'd been injured or the few times he'd been sick. Clint had always appreciated it, even if he’d put up a front of annoyance, Phil was sure of it. If Clint hadn’t, he’d have told Phil to knock it off, keep his nose out of other people’s business. Instead, Clint would escape medical as soon as he could and fall asleep on Phil’s office couch.

Pulling in a deep breath, he nodded silently. He wasn’t going to argue with Clint, or belittle his feelings by insisting there had to be something Phil could do for him, that it had to be at least a little bit Phil's fault -- they both knew he hadn’t even been in the same state as Clint when it had happened. Maybe that was part of the reason Phil felt a need to try and fix this. He felt guilty that he hadn’t been there to warn Clint, who had always been the “eyes up high” guardian and the one to shout out the warnings to everyone else. Phil had always been the one on the ground keeping an eye on Clint, or at least attempting to.

Now, with the changes that came after the Battle for New York, with Phil’s change of command and reassignment, he was no longer there to make sure Clint was safe. He couldn’t provide that extra set of eyes and ears and brainpower that had so many times kept Clint from serious injury. Jasper did what he could, but it wasn’t enough and he didn’t have the highly personal need Phil did to make sure nothing happened to Clint.

Slowly, Clint shifted and finally pushed himself out of Phil’s hold, moving to settle against some pillows next to Phil instead of lying back down again. He didn’t say anything, so Phil didn’t either. They kept their eyes glued to the computer screen and sat silently side by side, watching as Mal and his crew found themselves in more and more trouble and somehow always managed to scrape by in the end.

Clint fell asleep against Phil’s shoulder before the end of the last episode and as he tucked Clint in, Phil marked another wish off the list, slipped it back into his bag and pulled the covers over himself to try and sleep as well.

 

* * *

 

Neither Phil nor Clint talked about the near full body muscle spasm again.

They went about the rest of their time at Disney as if it’d never happened. Their day at Disney’s Hollywood Studios was spent watching the Indiana Jones Epic Stunt Spectacular, riding Star Tours six times (not in a row, though Clint wanted to), getting FastPasses for and sitting through nearly forty minutes of Lights, Motors, Action! – an extreme stunt show that demonstrated how car chases were done in the movies. Clint had to fight hard not to laugh because, oh, if they only knew half the things he and Natasha had managed to get a car to do.

They wandered the gift shops and sat in the shade for a little while before hitting up the Twilight Zone Tower of Terror. After being lifted and dropped a number of times, Phil stumbled out looking a little green and flat out said they wouldn’t be doing that one again, and lastly, they rode the Rock ‘n’ Roller Coaster.

By the time they left, both men were a bit nauseous and exhausted. They hadn’t managed to hit _every_ ride at Disney World, or even every park, but Phil felt confident that they’d done enough to cross it off Clint’s list.

 

* * *

 

The following day was spent packing up their things, checking out of the resort and taking the shuttle back to the airport.

The sun had already set when the redeye from Orlando to Chicago began to board. It didn’t look like it was going to be a very full flight, which was nice. It meant he and Clint wouldn’t be too crowded, and there were no screaming children in sight, which was even better. They settled into their seats and no sooner had Phil buckled his seatbelt than Clint shifted to gently rest his head on Phil’s shoulder. Clint’s eyes fell shut, and his breathing almost immediately evened out to soft, shallow breaths.

Phil would wake him once the flight landed, but until then, he wrapped his arm around Clint’s shoulders, tenderly pressing a light kiss to his forehead while he slept.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: homophobia. Phil's older brother is a total jerkwad and not at ALL nice to his younger brother. S'ok, he gets told off. :)

Phil eyes slowly blinked open, the sunlight from the open window spilling onto his face. There was a warm, gentle breeze swaying through the pale blue curtains and a curious weight on his hip. He could smell coffee brewing, and the faint sounds of glass clinking in the next room told him that he’d managed to sleep through other people waking up.

He and Clint had finally gotten to Phil’s mom’s house a little after three that morning, and after setting Clint up in his old room, Phil had gone down and fallen asleep on the couch. His old room had been turned into a guest bedroom, and the twin size bed had been replaced with a full size one, and while he and Barton had slept in more cramped places before, he still felt better letting Clint have the whole bed, at least for the night, so he could rest well.

He reached down and ran his fingers from the tip of a cool, wet nose down across the cat’s back. “Hey, Pearl…” he mumbled, putting his head back down and letting his eyes fall shut again. He gently picked the cat up off his hip and shifted to roll from his side onto his back, working to extract himself from the blanket cocoon that had formed at some point during the night.

Pearl mewed in protest as she was lifted from her resting place. She waited for Phil to settle again, and kneaded at the blanket before finally curling back up on his stomach. Her green eyes closed, and the soft vibration of her purr was loud in the quiet living room.

Quiet footsteps padded out of the kitchen, followed closely by the sound of large paws and tags. The paws scooted past the obviously two legged person and moved until a large cream and tan colored face was directly in front of Phil’s, panting happily and body wiggling with excitement. With one great lick up the side of Phil’s cheek, the dog gave a bark of hello before trying to climb up onto the couch with him and the unamused black cat.

“Oyster. No, down, boy, let him sleep.”

“S’ok, Mom…I’m awake…”

Julia Coulson stepped around the side of the couch and smiled down at her son. Her dark brown hair was flecked with silver and pulled up into a loose ponytail, and laugh lines framed her mouth and the corners of her eyes. There was a mug of coffee in her hands that she set on the end table next to Phil’s head.

“Well, good morning, Sleeping Beauty,” she teased, the corner of her mouth curling up into a smirk that Phil had clearly inherited from her. “Or should we call Clint Sleeping Beauty and you Prince Phillip?”

Phil rolled his eyes as he pushed both the dog and the cat off of him and moved to sit up. “Far as I know, Clint’s still asleep, so…he can be Sleeping Beauty,” he mumbled slightly, reaching for the cup of coffee and taking a sip.

A small smile itched at the corner of his mom’s mouth, one that made Phil once again sigh and turn his eyes towards the ceiling. His mother had always been very supportive of him and the majority of his life choices. Okay, so there were a few mishaps in high school and college she wasn’t really pleased with, but then again, Phil wasn’t exactly proud of those moments either. It was her insistence that her “baby boy” needed someone in his life that always seemed to rub him wrong.

“Please, Mom, don’t start. It’s too early –“

“It’s a quarter past eleven, Peege. You haven’t slept this late since you were still in college. Was starting to wonder if I needed to grab a pointed stick and poke you, make sure you were still alive.” Her tone was light and teasing, even as she gave him a slightly disapproving look. Not that she had much room to talk, though; for as much of Phil’s life as he could remember, she had worked second shift and had always had a messed up sleep pattern.

Phil shook his head as he finished off the coffee and stretched, holding the mug out to her with an impish little smile and his eyes twinkling with innocence. Julia gave a half laugh as she gently pushed the mug and adjoining arm away.

“You’ve got two perfectly working legs, Phillip. You can get your own second cup of coffee. But go wake Clint up first, the poor thing must be starving,” she called over her shoulder as she headed through the dining room and towards the back door to the patio.

With a sigh, Phil pushed himself completely off the couch, gently stretched the tensed muscles of his back, and started up the stairs.

There were still a few remnants of his childhood in the guestroom -- the muted slate grey walls with white baseboards and a band of fire brick red trim along the ceiling, his bookshelf with old comics and action figures perfectly lining the shelves. Hidden on the back wall of the closet, behind his old soccer uniforms and his father’s ancient Army trunk, was Phil’s very first Captain America poster. The rest of the room, however, was a model spare bedroom, done up to make a guest feel at home but without the personality and lived-in feel of the other rooms.

There, in the middle of the room, though, was perhaps Phil’s favorite thing.

Lying on his stomach and covered up with the soft grey comforter, Clint slept as peacefully as Phil had ever seen him. His hair was tousled from sleep, his lips just slightly parted, his breathing slow and steady, and Phil almost hated having to wake him up, knowing how rare it was for Clint to sleep this deeply. He stepped silently into the room, remembering exactly where and how to step in order to avoid the parts of his floor that creaked and groaned, and settled himself lightly on the edge of the bed.

For a moment, all Phil could do was sit there and watch him. During missions, they took turns staying up to keep watch, so it wasn’t new to him to see Clint sleeping. It was, however, new to see him so relaxed and comfortable while he slept. The tension was completely gone from his body, and he looked, for once, just like a regular man, not the deadly trained sniper he actually was.

Phil allowed himself a couple of minutes to sit and wonder what their lives might be like if they didn’t work for SHIELD, if they _were_ just regular guys with normal, everyday, nine-to-five jobs. Maybe things would be different for them. Maybe there’d be more days where he’d get to watch Clint sleep and start to wake up, looking all soft and cuddly bundled under the blankets. Phil might even be able to kiss him good morning and tease him over a cup of coffee, bump elbows in the bathroom as they tried to brush their teeth at the same time.

It was nothing more than wishful thinking, though. It couldn’t be anything but that.

Still, it didn’t stop Phil from smoothing his hand down Clint’s hair and resting it on his shoulders. It was there Phil was able to feel some of the destruction. The strong, heavy and incredibly-toned muscles were softer, thinner than they had been before. _I am so sorry, Clint,_ he thought as he brushed his thumb along the base of Clint’s neck.

With a sigh, he gently shook Clint’s shoulder.

“Barton?” he asked quietly. “Barton… Clint, it’s time to wake up.”

Clint mumbled a response as he rolled onto his back, face scrunched up in discomfort as he grabbed Phil’s hand before he had the chance to pull it back. Phil’s breath caught in his throat as Clint hugged his former handler’s arm to his chest, hand resting right over his steadily beating heart. Clint tilted his head and brought Phil's hand up so he could press his cheek against it, murmuring softly and incoherently into the palm.

His own heart jumping into his throat, Phil stared wide-eyed at Clint. The two days worth of stubble tickled at his skin while gentle, warm breath breezed over the soft underside of his wrist. If he had any less self-control, Phil would have leaned in to press his lips to Clint’s, waking him like Sleeping Beauty. Instead, he let his thumb brush just once under Clint’s eye before taking his hand away and standing up. He forced down the emotions bubbling up inside him and trying to break free; they weren’t going to do him any good, Phil refused to act on his feelings now, refused to be that person who only acted on their emotions because it could be the last chance they had. It wasn’t fair to him or to Clint.

Taking a breath, Phil reached to shake Clint's shoulder a bit harder this time. "Barton. Time to wake up. There's coffee downstairs."

This time Clint's eyes blinked open, looking blearily up at Phil. It took a moment for things to register before Clint finally nodded, slowly pushing himself up. The blankets slid down to pool in his lap, and Phil quickly looked away when he realized there was far more bare skin evident under the blanket than he'd thought there'd be.

He stood, making his way back to the door so that Clint could get dressed, and he very carefully told himself he most definitely wasn't going to act on his feelings. He had to keep reminding himself that.

The kitchen was empty when Phil made his way in, Pearl slinking between his feet, curling around and purring like mad in hopes that he would give her some milk or tuna. Lucky for her, Phil had a bit of a soft spot and ultimately placed a small saucer of warmed milk on the floor for her before he set about making his own breakfast and coffee. It was peacefully quiet in the house, which Phil was thankful for. The last time he'd been home, there'd been quite a bit of yelling, some harsh words thrown about, and finally a door slamming shut.

Phil was just sitting down at the table when the front door opened, two voices filling the house and making him inwardly cringe.

"I'm _sorry_ , Daddy! It's not like I _meant_ to! I didn't realize they hadn't finished --"

"If you hadn't been _texting_ , you would have seen they didn't clear the intersection! Now two cars are going to the scrapyard, we're gonna have to buy them a new car, and our insurance just skyrocketed. I don't want to hear it!"

The voices moved closer and closer to the kitchen and for a moment, Phil debated just slipping out the back door and hopping the fence. Or maybe hiding in the bushes. Maybe his treehouse was still out back, he could easily hide in there.

"Please don't… Uncle Phil?" The teen girl's startled voice cut through the air just moments before a pair of arms were thrown around him, nearly tackling him out of his chair in a hug.

Phil coughed as the air was knocked out of him, the arms cutting off his air for a moment as he reached to push his breakfast across the table. "April… I can't breathe…"

Instantly, the girl's arms released and she hopped back away from her uncle. Phil glanced up to where his older brother was standing in the doorway and then quickly looked away. A moment later, Julia breezed back into the kitchen looking concerned as she moved straight for her granddaughter, pulling her into a hug.

"Cliff, I got your message. My God, April, honey, are you okay?"

"She's fine, Mom. Don't baby her. She's grounded." Cliff's glare shifted from Phil to their mother and his daughter before he moved in to steal Phil's breakfast and coffee, giving him a challenging stare. Phil knew better, and he let the older and bigger man have them.

"What happened?" Phil asked, shifting to sit sideways in the chair to look to Julia and April.

"She was texting while driving. Not just driving, but attempting to make a left hand turn. Tore off the back end of some woman's SUV and ripped the front axle clear off our brand new car."

"It was an accident -- "

"It was stupid and you _know_ better."

Phil wasn't going to deny the fact it wasn't exactly his niece's brightest idea, especially with all the campaigns going on about not texting and driving. Still, he knew his brother could be a major hardass; he knew from experience just what Cliff was capable of and how he might be treating his only daughter.

"I have some money. I'll help you get a car, April. Think of it as a -- " Phil's words were cut off as a hand connected with the back of his head, toppling him forward a bit.

"Like hell you will, _Filly_. If she wants a car of her own, she's going to work for it and pay for it herself. As it is, she's going to be working in the theater for the rest of her life paying for the two cars she destroyed this morning."

Phil sat perfectly still, eyes glued to a spot on the floor in front of him. There was a war of emotions going on inside him -- the urge to follow his training and show his brother just what kind of man he'd become through the years fought against the desire to just curl up and take the abuse like he had growing up. It was easier that way.

"Cliff, don't hit your brother," Julia chided as she pulled April off towards the counters.

For a moment, Phil was sixteen again, sitting across the table from his nineteen year old captain of the football team brother. The glaring smirk was still the same, as was the knot in Phil's stomach that told him later he'd find himself down on the ground getting kicked and pummeled.

The other man's smirk turned into a sneer as he shoveled a spoonful of cereal into his mouth, only just barely bothering to chew it before he started talking. "So why the hell did you come back anyways, Filly? Thought after last time you'd decided not to come back at all. What, finally decide you weren't _queer_ anymore?"

Phil's jaw clenched, teeth grinding together as his blood boiled in his veins. Apparently, ten years hadn't been long enough. Of course, it was just his luck that Cliff hadn't moved away from home, and that he hadn't forgotten the reason for the blowout fight the last time Phil'd been home. He was about to respond when Clint shuffled into the kitchen, dressed in ratty jeans (that Phil secretly loved) and a equally ratty Batman T-shirt. His hair was still all tousled, though it was now wet, signaling he'd found the bathroom fine and had helped himself to a shower.

Cliff's eyes widened at the stranger in his mother's kitchen, and he actually dropped his spoon on the table mid way to his mouth when Clint walked by, dropping a gentle squeeze to Phil's shoulder as he did so.

"Mornin'..." Clint mumbled, making his way to the coffee maker. Julia and April turned quickly at the new voice, Julia's bright eyes widening as a smile crossed her face.

"Clint! It's so good to finally meet you without a computer screen between us. Oh, Phil's told me so much about you! It's so nice to finally get to give you a hug!" In an instant, the woman's arms were around him, pulling him in for a tight hug and kiss on the cheek.

Phil ducked his head, the tips of his ears bright pink as he looked away. He didn't have to look over at Cliff to know his brother's sneer had turned smug and condescending.

"Guess that answers that question..." Cliff grumbled, shoving the bowl of cereal and the cup of coffee back at Phil, both half gone and not at all appetizing anymore. "Aren't you going to introduce us to your... _friend_ , Filly?"

The air quotes were evident in the tone and Phil had to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from diving across the table. Standing, Phil took the bowl and mug over to the sink, emptying them both and leaving them on the counter to be washed later.

"Clint Barton, my mother Julia, my niece April, and her father Cliff. My older brother. Everyone, my friend Clint." Phil kept his own tone short and crisp. Turning, he rested his backside against the counter and folded his arms over his chest, daring Cliff to start something.

It was a dare Cliff took eagerly.

"You left out the _'Special'_ in front of that friend, little brother. He's your 'Special Friend', isn't he?"

Clint's brows scrunched together as he turned to level the older Coulson with a scrutinizing glare. He'd only just met the man and already he didn't like him, Phil could tell just by looking at him. There was a tick working at the corner of Clint's mouth and it was only a matter of time before --

"Funny. Phil never mentioned he had a de-evolved neanderthalic ape as a brother. You coulda made a fortune off him if you'da sold him to the right people, Phil."

Most people failed to realize that just because Clint was an orphan ex-carnie who'd never finished a proper education, it didn't mean he wasn't highly intelligent.

"Hell, Old Man Carson was always looking for new sideshow attractions. Could have sold him to us. Though, couldn't promise I wouldn't have put a few arrows into him after a while."

Julia and April both coughed back their laughs while Cliff sat at the table stammering. Phil merely smirked nonchalantly. It felt good to have someone at his back when it came to dealing with his brother. Really, really good.

Cliff's face was bright red as he stood up from the table, hands slapping down on the wood surface as he boomed, "Who the hell do you think you are?! You don't even know me!"

"Right. And you don't know me. Snap judgments are a bitch, ain't they?"

For a moment, no one said a word, all eyes darting between Clint and Cliff, waiting to see what would happen next. When no one made a move and Clint just continued to stare Cliff down with the most lethal version of his infamous "resting face" -- the one that drove junior agents to tears and sent lesser men scurrying away nervously -- Phil cleared his throat and stepped forward, coming between the two. He wasn't sure what would happen if Cliff got antsy under that look, and he frankly didn't want to find out.

"Clint and I are just staying here for a couple of days to rest up. Then we're leaving. So, you won't have to see us after Monday." Phil told Cliff, knowing that the man still wasn't comfortable having a little brother who was gay.

Julia stepped up to Clint, handing him a plate of bacon and Eggo's. "You boys don't have to leave so soon. You're welcome to stay for however long you want."

"Uh, thanks... ma’am, but we're kind of on a tight schedule right now." Clint took the plate and leaned back against the counter again to easily munch away at the food. Who needed forks?

Phil watched Clint for a moment, a small, sad smile playing on his lips before he ducked his head and looked back at his brother. Cliff was still watching them carefully, as if he were afraid they were going to jump each other right then and there in the family kitchen. God, he was such an idiot.

Moving back to the table, Phil narrowed his eyes to glare at Cliff.

"And Clint's not my boyfriend. He's a friend who may not have a whole lot longer to enjoy life, so if you even think about giving either of us a hard time, so help me, I will have you disappear so fast heads will spin. Got it?" His voice was barely over a calm whisper as he met his brother's eyes.

It was very, very rare for Phil to stand up to him, and it usually never ended well, but the extreme seriousness in his tone of voice made Cliff draw back slightly, his eyes wide with surprise and fear. The response let Phil know that Cliff took him very seriously and with any luck, he'd actually heed that warning. It didn't look good for SHIELD agents to disappear their own family members.

Phil's head bobbed in a small nod before he turned to lightly kiss his mother's cheek. "Are those old reels of Star Wars still in storage? The ones Dad refused to get rid of?"

He could sense Cliff sitting up straighter at the table behind him, and he felt the confused and curious look he was getting from Clint as Julia nodded, wiping her hands on a dish towel.

"As far as I know they are. Why?"

"Because," Phil smirked, giving Clint a quick, tight lipped smile before looking back to his mother, "we're having a Star Wars marathon today. Wanted to make sure they were still up there. Figured the reels would be more fun to watch on the big screen than the digital copies."

Clint's eyes went wide, his jaw dropping in surprise just a moment before he grinned widely, popping another piece of Eggo into his mouth and happily swaying a bit in place. Phil had never told Clint that his dad (and now his brother) had owned a movie theater that Phil had helped out in while growing up, meaning he got to see all the best movies as soon as they were released. He'd been one of the first kids in school to see each movie in the Star Wars trilogy when it came out.

"That sounds like it'll be fun! Let me go check, I'm almost positive I know where they are." Julia's smile was bright as she looked between her son and his friend, and she scurried from the room to check upstairs. On the other side of the sink, April's eyes brightened a bit in hope.

"Can I watch them too, Uncle Phil?"

"No," Cliff answered gruffly before Phil could even open his mouth to answer. "Where the hell you plannin' to watch those things, Filly? You manage to get your own private theater or something?"

A black and silver credit card slapped down on the table, the lines on Phil's face hard and determined as he slid the SHIELD-issued card across to his brother. "Bill me."

"You...what the fuck? You’re _renting_ out _my_ theater just so you and… _him_ can go watch some old sci-fi crap?"

Phil's face turned pleasantly bland, the expression he gave just before he delivered the verbal hurt on someone. "No. I'm renting _Dad's_ theater, so _Clint_ and I can go watch the greatest science fiction space trilogy of all time. A cinematic classic that even people who live in caves and have never seen a TV in their lives can recognize and relate to. You're just the guy who is going to let me use one of the rooms and change the reels for us."

Cliff sputtered and stared at Phil in utter disbelief. It was enough to draw giggles from April, who had never seen her father so speechless before, and to bring a proud and smug grin across Clint's face. Tapping the credit card again, Phil straightened up just as their mother came back downstairs, holding two of the many tins in her hands. Phil turned, his smile spreading and eyes brightening.

"Here's these, the rest of them are upstairs in the trunk."

Reaching out to carefully take the tins, Phil grinned. "Great, thanks Mom." He turned his attention back to Cliff, quirking his eyebrow. "You want to get the trunk and take it to the theater to get things set up? Clint and I will be there soon as he finishes his breakfast and I take a shower."

It was truly satisfying to see the way his brother sputtered and spat as he yanked the plastic card off the table and stormed from the room, much to the confusion of Julia and the amusement of April and Clint. Julia turned to look at the three remaining people, her head tilted questioningly. "What in the world happened while I was upstairs?"

"Awesomeness, Grandma. Pure awesomeness." April couldn't fight her laugh as she moved to throw her lanky arms around her uncle's neck again, pressing a kiss to his cheek with a smack. "That was so cool, Uncle Phil! I can't believe you did that!"

"Did what?"

"Phil gave your other son the verbal what-for, ma'am." Clint smirked, taking a quick bite of bacon before setting the plate aside and looking back to Phil. "That was pretty impressive, sir."

Phil ducked his head and shrugged, carefully setting the reel tins down on the table. "It wasn't that impressive. I just finally stopped putting up with his crap."

Julia's mouth dropped slightly, her eyes wide as she looked her son over. "You stood up to Cliff? Without punches being thrown and no one storming out of the house? Who are you and what have you done to Peege?"

Pink rose in Phil's cheeks, and he glanced quickly to Clint before shaking his head. It was true; it wasn't often that he stood up to Cliff, and when he'd attempted it in the past, it had usually ended in at least one of them getting hit, or tons of hurtful words being thrown about, resulting in the one injured the most storming out to lick their wounds. Contrary to what many people thought about his life growing up, Phil's relationship with his siblings, especially his brother,-- was less than ideal, and it was only the last time he'd visited, for their father's funeral, that he'd managed to make peace with the fact his dad and brother both viewed him as a lesser being for having a much stronger interest in men than he did in women. It was a tough reality to deal with, but one that he'd finally managed to handle.

"It wasn't that impressive, Mom. Trust me. In fact, it wouldn't surprise me one bit if later the two of us wind up in another throwdown. He's probably just waiting for you not to be around." Phil knew his voice hinted at the pain he still felt at having a brother who venomously hated him for not much more than having been born.

Shaking her head, Julia sighed as she gently rubbed Phil's arm. "That sounds about his style. Well," she said as she looked to Clint and then back to Phil, "I'm glad to see that you have finally stopped letting him push you around. I wish it could have happened a long time ago, but... some seeds are just born to be rotten."

"Yeah, and Cliff's the rottenest of 'em all."

"You're not wrong." Julia shook her head and waved a hand in front of her face. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't say that about my own son, but it's true. Anyway! You better go take a shower and get changed. You boys have fun this afternoon." She moved to kiss first Phil's cheek, then Clint's. "When you get back tonight, I expect to get to sit and get to know you a bit more, mister. There's got to be more to you than what Phil's been telling me."

Laughing softly, Clint nodded, the tips of his ears burning a bright pink at the attention and affection. It'd been far too long since any motherly figure had given him that much attention. "Yes, ma'am. And I'm pretty sure whatever your son's been telling you, it's mostly lies anyway."

He was teasing, of course, and Phil could tell just by the way Clint's mouth turned up in the corner as he glanced back to him. God, but the man was gorgeous. It was enough to tighten Phil's chest and pull all the air from his lungs. Clearing his throat sharply, Phil shook his head and pulled a small bottle from his pocket, tossing it to Clint without much more than a second glance.

"I never lie to my Mom. That's just wrong," Phil teased back, turning to head out of the room and into the hall. "Don't forget to take those, and Mom, watch him to make sure he does. I'll be back down in a few minutes." Without another word, Phil slipped up the stairs, careful to avoid letting Cliff know he was even in the same vicinity before locking the bathroom door behind himself.

* * *

  
The Sycamore Street Theater had certainly seen better days, under his father's ownership. Still, it was a beautiful little three auditorium theater building, dressed up to bring back a sense of days gone by. There were no arcades or neon lights; instead, the clear stage bulbs lit up the signs to catch people's attention. There was a nostalgic feel to it that always made Phil smile and think back to the days of his youth, helping to clean up after shows and on weekends. Of sitting on the glass candy display case, popping M&Ms into his mouth and watching as his dad took ticket money in the little glass booth out front. It was an antiquated system, but his dad had loved it just the same. The auditoriums were small and intimate, the screen taking up the majority of the room, and the large, heavy speakers hanging from the walls taking up even more space. Still, it was clean and quaint, and it was mostly the way Phil remembered it being growing up.

They sat in the back row, two large sodas in the cup holders beside them and an extra large tub of popcorn placed between them, Phil having dumped a package of M&Ms and Reese's Pieces into it.

"Sweet and Salty. The only way to eat popcorn," he'd said with a quirky smile, drawing a throaty laugh from Clint and the most amazing smile he'd seen since they'd arrived at Disney World. Phil may or may not have become addicted to that smile.

It'd been forever since the last time Phil had actually sat down to watch a movie in the theater, let alone watch one with someone else, and even longer since he'd last marathoned a series, so it was nice to finally have someone to share his little family secret with. Not even Hill or Sitwell knew that his family owned and operated their very own movie theater. It wasn't that he'd meant to keep it a secret, it just had never come up in conversation.

As the films drew to a close some hours later, Phil felt a small smile form at the corners of his mouth. Clint had slouched down in his seat, head rested back and slightly to the side, lightly touching Phil's shoulder, and his eyes were closed. As much as he hated to wake the man, he did, promising that once they were back to his mom's house, Clint could take over the couch if he wanted or needed to. Clint had nodded, his eyes heavy as he slowly and carefully pushed himself up, tossing his empty soda cup into the garbage on his way out the door.

Neither of them acknowledged Cliff on their way out, and Cliff did his best not to acknowledge them either as they headed out onto the street and started back to Julia's home.

* * *

  
Clint slipped quietly into the living room, making his move to the couch and automatically curling up on it, his eyes closing as soon as his head hit the throw pillow. Phil had paused just long enough to slip his sneakers off before coming in to cover Clint with the blanket he'd used the night before. He would have to contact Bruce later and let him know that things were beginning to progress and Clint was steadily becoming more easy to tire. It could wait a little while longer though.

"Clint's not well, is he?"

Phil glanced over his shoulder at his mom standing in the archway separating living room from dining room. Looking back to Clint, he shook his head. "No, he's not..."

A gentle hand landed on his back, just to the right of where Loki had run him through. "You wanna talk about it, Baby?"

No, he really didn't, even if he knew he probably should; he really just didn't want to.

"Was it something that happened at work? One of those magical mad scientist things I probably wouldn't understand?"

Phil was quiet for a moment, before he spoke again. "Yeah... magic mad scientists..." He turned, taking his mom by the arm and led her from the room so they didn't disturb the sleeping archer.

The pair made their way into the kitchen where Phil found Clint's little orange pill bottle sitting on the table. Picking it up, he ran his fingers over the slightly raised print of the man's full name, plus the scientific name of whatever it was Bruce had concocted for him. It was suppose to be helping, to delay the process and give them enough time to come up with some antidote or reversal process for their friend.

"I wasn't there when it happened," Phil stated quietly, slipping the bottle into his pocket and sitting down at the table, head in his hands. "I was off in Bora Bora with my new team. I wasn't there to warn him. To have his back. Now... whatever happened to him is literally and painfully eating him alive from the inside out. Very slowly. God, I should have been there to warn him..."

"Was he there to help you when that tantruming Asgardian put a hole through you?"

Phil swallowed and shook his head. "No, but that wasn't his fault. He --"

"It wasn't his fault, and you not being there isn't your fault. Don't beat yourself up over it." Julia's hand gently squeezed his shoulder. "What's important is that you're here for him now. I know you can't tell me what happened that did this to him, and that's fine, but I want you to know how proud of you I am that you're taking up time you normally wouldn't to be with him. Even if it's to offer nothing more than friendship, which, bud, you and I need to talk later about that. I saw the way you two looked at each other this morning."

A quiet huff of exhausted laughter fell from Phil's mouth as he looked up into his mother's kind and all too keen eyes. "We're just friends, Mom, and he would do the same for me if the situation were reversed."

Julia smirked, pushing herself up from the table and gently kissing Phil's head, patting his hand as she walked toward the stairs. "You're more than friends, Phillip. You probably have been for so long, that you just never noticed. I'll see you both in the morning. G'night, Peege."

Suddenly alone in the kitchen, Phil sat at the table in silent thought, going back through his memories and wondering if what his mother said was true. The more he thought, the more Phil realized just where, when, and how that shift had happened, the exact moment they'd stopped being Agent Coulson and Agent Barton -- the handler and his specialist -- and became Phil and Clint, the mighty duo and sight to be seen walking down the halls of S.H.I.E.L.D HQ shoulder to shoulder, passing a large to-go cup of coffee back and forth as they bitched about the latest mission, or lack thereof. It had been such a natural and subtle shift that Phil hadn't noticed, but it had been there.

"...damn..."

* * *

  
The heavy metal screaming guitar solo drowned out the buzzing of the tattoo guns as Phil and Clint sat side by side, both pretending that having their skin scraped and stained didn’t hurt nearly as much as it actually did. Phil’s faded blue T-shirt sat bunched up on his lap while the bubbly Goth girl doodled away across his shoulder, covering the scar on his back with a beautiful picture of a purple and black phoenix, while Clint stared out the window as a double bow and arrow was skillfully drawn into place on his hip just above his waistband.

A part of Phil really believed that maybe they should have gone to the Blarney Stone Pub before making their way to the tattoo parlor, it would have been easier to explain later why both of them were returning with new ink and one stud each in their ears, though apparently reputable places such as this tended to frown upon folks who’d had too much to drink stumbling in wanting tattoos and piercings.

As their new wounds were carefully covered in gauze and medical tape, Phil glanced over at Clint, giving him a smile to cover for the fact he was checking up on him. With the muscle loss he’d been suffering, getting a tattoo had to have been more painful than it would normally be, and part of him worried that whatever was attacking Clint would react badly to the intrusion of ink into his system. Clint seemed to be fine, though, save for the thin sheen of sweat on his brow and the slight ticking of his jaw when he pulled his shirt back down. When their eyes met, and there was a hint of a smile from Clint in return, Phil knew that Clint would be alright.

For right now, at least.

* * *

  
As the sun was just starting to sag heavily in the sky, Phil pulled into the parking lot of a small, suburban bar. As it was Monday night, there weren’t many cars present, which meant it’d be relatively quiet inside, something Phil was looking forward to immensely. Bars weren’t normally his scene, but since this was as close as he could get to fulfilling one of Clint’s wishes, it was going to have to do.

Turning the car off, he shifted his attention to Clint, gently rolling his shoulder as the tape pinched and pulled at his skin around his new tattoo. Clint was scanning the area cautiously, his face neutral and unreadable as he took everything in before looking back to Phil. The moment he did, his features softened and confusion lit his eyes.

“I could be wrong, Coulson, but I’m pretty sure ‘Get Drunk’ has been crossed off my list a whole shit-ton of times since I turned sixteen.”

Phil smiled softly and raised an amused brow at him, a quiet chuckle escaping his lips. “Well aware of that, but you also had ‘Go to Ireland’ and ‘Kiss the Blarney Stone’ on your list. I can’t get you to Ireland, but I figured you could at least still kiss _a_ Blarney Stone.”

He nodded at the name that hung above the kelly green door in large gold letters. Clint’s looked back out the window and up, laughing out loud as he glanced at his companion once more.

“The Blarney Stone Pub and Grill? Jesus fuck, Coulson,” Clint laughed, his eyes twinkling and nose scrunching just so, enough to signify that it was an honest laugh.

Shrugging, Phil pocketed the keys and opened his door. “Best I can do under the circumstances. C’mon, let’s go have a drink and you can kiss the wall or something if you want to.”

Still grinning, Clint slowly moved to follow, not about to turn down a good beer or the chance to cross another thing off his list.

Even if it was a cheat.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I read this chapter out loud to myself to try and catch any major flubs and stuff...and all I have to say is, I am SO SORRY! I really hope everyone has tissues ready, because I had to stop reading about a half dozen times to cry and apologize to thin air........ Remember folks, Chapter 4 was the last "happy" chapter. It is really all downhill from here on out. Also big thank you to [roguebowtie](http://archiveofourown.org/users/roguebowtie/pseuds/roguebowtie) for being awesome and stepping up to help beta this and the remaining chapters while life decides to kick Ral's butt. *Huggles and loves to Ral!*

* * *

 

The days that followed found the pair saying goodbye to Phil’s mom and niece, Phil promising that he’d keep in better touch and Clint laughing at the threat to keep Phil out of trouble. They’d left Chicago about midday to avoid the afternoon rush, and drove the five hours it took to get to Waverly, stopping a couple of times to refuel, get drinks, and to take Clint’s picture beside the sign for Clinton, Iowa. Much to Clint’s chagrin and Phil’s extreme amusement.  
  
It was after seven by the time they got into Waverly, ordered a pizza to go from a little pizzeria, and got checked into their hotel. A heaviness had settled over them the closer they got to the man’s former hometown. Clint had long ago gone silent. There weren’t many happy memories in Waverly, but there were things that needed to be done; closure that Clint never got to have in the past and needed to have.  
  
Phil knew better than to push Clint into talking. Instead, he instructed Clint to go take a hot shower first; he’d seen the way the man had flinched, hissed, and tensed in the car when his muscles protested certain movements. While Clint was in the bathroom, Phil took his laptop from his bag, signed into the hotel wifi and rang up Stark Tower’s secure line.  
  
Less than a minute later, video showed up on his screen, two familiar faces filling the viewer.  
  
“Agent! What a pleasant surprise. To what do we owe this honor?” Tony’s voice was light and sarcastic as ever, even as his face showed signs of sleepless nights and serious stress. He knew exactly why Phil was calling, he just didn’t want to acknowledge it.  
  
“Stark, Dr. Banner. I’m hoping you both have some good news for me. Stark, you don’t get to answer.” Phil’s eyes snapped to Tony, suppressing his smug smile at Tony’s slack-jawed indignation.  
  
Bruce covered his amused smile with his hand before clearing his throat and going serious again. His expressive eyes went soft and sad with disappointment.  
  
“We haven’t been able to figure it out. The sample we took from Clint has been resisting everything we’ve hit with it--”  
  
“Except for radiation--”  
  
“Excessive, _deadly_ , radiation, which we _agreed_ we wouldn’t be using on Clint.” Bruce chided, giving Tony a look before looking back to Phil. “We’re still trying to contact Thor to see if he has any ideas.”  
  
Phil frowned, brows knitted together in confusion as he thought out loud. “Thor’s a demi-god, you call out to him and he should hear you.”  
  
“Yeah well, apparently there’s some big to-do or something going on cuz he’s nowhere to be found, and no amounts of phoning-home or calling out to him has brought him down from his cloud palace, so…” Tony quipped back, his tone sharp and short, obviously annoyed that they were helpless to try and save their friend.  
  
People could say what they wanted about Tony, but deep down the man cared almost _too much_ for his friends, and Phil, as much as he didn’t want to, could appreciate that.  
  
“How’s Clint doing? Any new symptoms or signs of distress?”  
  
A deep frown creased Phil’s face. “He’s been getting easier to tire out the last couple of days. He’s starting to thin down a bit and he’s been experiencing full body muscle spasms.”  
  
Bruce hummed thoughtfully as he looked back to Tony, almost as if conversing with him without saying words, before looking back to Phil agent again.  
  
“Has he been taking the medication?”  
  
“Every morning and every night.”  
  
“What about the painkillers?”  
  
Phil sighed, thinking about the full bottle still sitting in his bag. He doubted Clint would take them, even now, but he supposed it was worth a try. “I’ll offer them to him the next time he has a spasm fit.”  
  
Frowning, he glanced off towards the bathroom, listening as the water turned off and the door creaked open just a crack. Looking back to the screen, Phil gave them both a sharp nod. “Keep trying Thor. The moment things start getting to be too much for Clint, we’ll be coming back. I’ll be in touch.”  
  
The laptop clicked shut just as Clint shuffled out into the room, an old SHIELD gym shirt loose on his shoulders where it’d been a bit on the tight side only a week before, and his sweats were clearly cinched tighter. He walked past the pizza still sitting on the table and crawled into bed, his eyes closed and his face pinched tight with pain.  
  
Concern crossed Phil’s face and just for a moment, he glanced to his bag and considered the bottle of painkillers.  
  
“Barton. What’s the number?” He asked quietly, using their old system for determining pain levels by number.  
  
There was silence for a beat before, “Seven...borderline eight…”  
  
“What hurts most?” Phil was already getting up and moving for his bag as he spoke, keeping an eye on Clint as he went.  
  
“List of what doesn’t hurt most would be shorter, Sir.”  
  
The two medicine bottles were heavy in Phil’s hand, a sad reminder of their existence. At least Clint hadn’t been putting up a fight about the medication itself yet and his having to take them twice a day.  
  
Grabbing the small plastic cup off the sink and filling it with cool water, Phil picked up a slice of pizza and moved back to sit at the edge of Clint’s bed. He knocked Clint’s shoulder lightly with the hand holding the food, his other hand setting the medicine and water cup down carefully on the night table.  
  
“Here, sit up and eat something,” he kept his voice soft, a request, not an order. “Then take the medicine. Including the painkiller. Might take the edge off enough for you to be able to get some sleep.”  
  
Clint stayed still for a long moment before finally turning his head to look at him.  
  
“Why,” He questioned, voice slightly defiant and all gruff with skepticism, “Why bother, Coulson? They’re not doing shit…”  
  
For a horrifying second, Phil worried Clint had heard his conversation with Tony and Bruce, and had heard their update report. Squaring his shoulders though, he shook his head and kept his arm out stretched. He didn’t want to think about what the two scientists had said.  
  
When he didn’t give an answer, Clint let out a heavy, disgruntled sigh, pushing himself up slowly and with a clenched jaw until he was upright again. He snatched the pizza from Phil’s hand and, folding it in half, had it down in two bites. Phil watched as Clint forced the food down before he grabbed the pill bottles and downed both his medication and the painkillers dry, ignoring the offered cup of water. Falling back down onto the pillows, Clint let his eyes close again as he dropped his arm over his face, huffing out loud.  
  
“Why you even doing this, Coulson? Wasting your time with me when you should be out with your new team, savin’ the world. Like you always do.”  
  
Clint’s voice was so melancholy, so full of pain --both physical and emotional-- that it caused Phil’s heart to seize in his chest. Aside from a few days prior, he’d never talked to Clint about his new team, about his missions, about anything after what happened on the Helicarrier. It was too painful for either of them, but maybe, maybe it was something they should talk about.  
  
Eventually.  
  
Phil shook his head, turning to gather his belongings out of his duffel to go take a shower.  
  
"I'm doing this because you're my friend, Clint." Phil answered, his sleeper pants slung over his shoulder as he dug for his T-shirt.  
  
Clint scoffed, making Phil turn his head and glance back at him. Clint was propped up on his elbows again, the bones of his shoulders beginning to stand out against his shirt.  
  
"Friend. Right. Sure you are, Coulson. That's why you let me think you were dead up until a few months ago? Why you never bothered to get hold of me and be all, 'Hey Barton, guess what, I'm not dead yet. How 'bout we get together over coffee and we can talk about dumb luck.'?"  
  
"Clint, I --"  
  
"Forget it, Coulson. If haulin' my sorry, dyin' ass around is going to clear your conscious, then fine. Whatever. Looks like this is the right trip for that." Face falling into a small scowl, Clint pushed himself off the bed, shouldered past Phil and moved to stand at the window. His arms were folded over his chest as he stared out at the parking lot. There really wasn't much that could be seen from their window --the parking lot, some trees, and the back of the grocery store across the way-- that was really about it, but if Clint wanted to stare out the window into the night, then Phil wasn't going to stop him.  
  
Finally finding his shirt, Phil turned his eyes once more to Clint. He wanted to say something, anything to make the man feel even the slightest bit better. It just wasn't possible. They both knew time was running out, that the virus was starting to attack at a more accelerated rate and there was nothing they could do about it. It wouldn't be long at all before Clint was too weak and in too much pain to do anything. They had to spend what time they had left wisely.  
  
Without a word, Phil slipped into the bathroom, locking the door behind him. He stared at the discarded towel left on the floor, Clint's toothbrush just tossed on the sink next to his still open bottle of paste. The sight tugged at his heart. It was the memory of all those past missions together that made him want to scream. All the times he would bitch at Clint for leaving the bathroom a mess when other people needed to use it. Clint always just gave a smug smirk, shrug, and turned his attention back to Road Runner, or whatever old cartoon he'd managed to find at the time.  
  
He stripped down, stepping under the spray of hot water as it sputtered pathetically from the shower head until the pressure built up and it flowed consistently again. The small bathroom smelled completely of Clint's body wash and shampoo, and Phil, well...he'd been able to control his impulses and urges for years, he couldn't be faulted now for caving in. The smell of sandalwood filled his nose as he rubbed the shampoo into his hair. Phil wanted to imagine a healthier Clint waiting out in the bedroom. He wanted to be able to walk back out there and find the man laid out on the mattress, one arm tucked under his head and the remote control in hand, flipping through the channels at a dizzying speed in the search for something good to watch.  
  
The water washed the suds from his hair as he moved on to take the body wash that had been left out. It wasn't anything fancy, but it smelled exactly like he'd always known Clint to smell. It was a wonderful mix that always seemed to underlie his scent after missions: the smell of fresh air, ozone, sweat, and crisp, cheap, store brand body wash. Maybe it was a little weird using Clint's toiletries, but he figured he could always write it off to the fact he'd forgotten to grab his from his bag --which, was actually true. And besides, it wasn't like he had plans to use Clint's toothbrush once he was finished in the shower.  
  
It wasn't like he planned to take care of the problem that had arisen from being completely surrounded by Clint's scent, either. Nope. Phil wasn't going to do a thing about that. He'd already told himself he wasn't going to make any kind of move on Clint, and to jerk off in the shower just because he suddenly had Clint's smell all over him? That was a whole new level of skeezy that Phil just wasn't going to let himself stoop to.  
  
Rising himself off, he quickly stepped out and toweled dry, making sure to clean up Clint's mess once he was finished. He left the vent running, while turning the light off, and stepped back out into the main room. Clint was already in bed, the blankets pulled up to his ears and one arm shoved under the pillow, his face turned towards the wall and away from Phil's bed. That was fine, Phil couldn't begrudge him that. It'd been a long drive, he knew Clint was hurting and tired.  
  
Phil's clothes landed across his duffel with a soft thud just as he turned to crawl into his own bed. He grasped his laptop, reaching to set it on the nightstand that was between their beds. He was just about to set it down when a piece of paper caught his eye. It was a cheap piece of hotel stationery, written in very familiar scrawl, the hotel pen sitting next to it.  
  
Glancing to make sure Clint was still facing away, Phil set his laptop back down and quietly reached to pick the notepad up. Written across the page was a letter, one that he suddenly felt a bit intrusive for reading but figured if Clint hadn't wanted it to be seen, he wouldn't have left it out in the open like he had. His eyes darted back to the bed across the way once more before looking back down at the pad of paper.  
  
 ~~ _Dear Barney_~~  
 _Barney--_  
  
 _I know we never had the greatest of relationships growing up, but you're my brother and hey, we're kind of stuck with each other. Only, you're not gonna be for much longer. I know you don't care, you haven't since I was a kid, but I'm leaving this letter with ~~my friend~~ ~~former handler~~ Coulson to deliver once everything's all said and done._  
  
 _I don't blame you for anything, okay? You stuck up for me when I needed you to when we were kids. You taught me to fight and maybe not get my ass handed to me quite as bad as I did. You protected me from our old man and hauled my sorry ass out of that orphanage when it was pretty clear nobody wanted a couple of fuckups like us._  
  
 _Barton Boys stick together till the end, right? Or till some cheap and easy money comes into play. Whichever happens first._  
  
 _Long story short, I wanted to say goodbye, since I know I’m not gonna see you before this fucking alien bullshit eats me alive. Crazy shit, huh? Always figured I’d go out in a fight or behind a dumpster, instead on I’m on a fucking roadtrip with goddamned perfect Phil fuckin’ Coulson and probably gonna die alongside the road or something._  
  
 _Take care of yourself Barney. I know it’s what you’ve always been best at._  
  
 _\--Clint._  
  
Phil stared down at the pieces of paper in his hands, his throat tight and the back of his eyes stinging slightly. Without a sound, he set the stationary back down on the table, swiped at the few stray tears that had escaped and were rolling down his cheeks slowly, and set his laptop over the note.  
  
Climbing into bed, Phil rolled so his back was to Clint, pressed his face into his pillow and allowed himself just a few minutes to let his own emotions out quietly.

* * *

  
  
The car rolled to a stop at the bottom of the hill. A small home sat at the top, grey with weathering and clearly abandoned. Even from the road it was clear to see the windows had been smashed in with rocks and the plot of land had been used for teenage parties. A burnt out stump of a tree sat to the left of the driveway, a collapsed garage just beyond that.  
  
The former homestead of one Harold Barton.  
  
Phil’s eyes scanned the property for a moment before glancing to Clint. There were deep lines at the corners of his eyes as he glared through his sunglasses at the house, as if his gaze alone would be enough to topple it and burn it to the ground.  
  
The thought of letting Clint torch it had crossed Phil’s mind.  
  
Taking a deep breath, Phil reached across the space between them to rest his hand, warm and gentle, to Clint’s arm, drawing his attention away from the house.  
  
“You sure about this?”  
  
Clint nodded.  
  
The car was put back into gear and driven up the gravel driveway, now covered in thick grass and weeds. They came to a stop alongside the house and waited for just another minute or two before Clint’s chest heaved with a deep breath and he pushed himself out of the car. Phil followed, taking it all in and imagining what it must have looked like when Clint was young and living there. The optimistic side of him hoped that it was in better shape and that maybe there was a tire swing in the tree.  
  
The pair moved silently around the house until they reached the east side. Pausing, Clint glanced up and nodded to the only window on the second floor. “My ol’ room,” His voice was quiet and Phil wondered if the man had even meant to say that outloud or not. Turning, he motioned off towards the burnt stump. “An old jalopy use to be parked there. Barney taught me how to flick quarters hard enough to break glass bottles off it. Guess it finally got hauled off.”  
  
A frown creased Clint’s brow as if he could still see his younger self and brother standing there working on the technique until the sun started to set. Reaching out again, Phil’s hand just barely touched Clint’s arm before Clint pulled away and started for their car.  
  
“Clint…”  
  
“Save it, Coulson. Let’s just get the rest of this damn trip finished.”  
  
His heart heavy and shoulders slumped, Phil gave a small nod as he moved to slip back behind the wheel and start them back out onto the road silently. They drove back through town without a word and something told him that not much had changed since the last time Clint had been to Waverly. Main street looked like no one had done much of anything to it in probably fifty years, aside from maybe updating the stoplights and streetlamps.  
  
As they headed west, Clint made a motion for Phil to turn left. There was a sneaky suspicion eating at the back of Phil’s mind telling him exactly where they were going and why, and when they pulled slowly through the gates of the Harlington Cemetery, that suspicion was confirmed. Clint barely waited for the car to stop before he was climbing out and starting off on his own, down the rows of tenderly cared for headstones. Phil waited, giving him a moment to wander the grounds by himself before he got out to follow.  
  
The cemetery was quiet save for the cardinals calling from their tree perches. Long, graceful shadows from the trees cast along the bright green grass, shading the place where Clint stood with his hands shoved deep in his pockets, staring down at the small, plain headstone. _Harold_ and _Edith_ etched into the gray stone, along with their birth dates and death date. Phil was glad to see “Loving Father” had been left off; he knew enough about Clint’s past to know just how big of a lie that was.  
  
Stepping up to stand beside him, Phil folded his hands respectfully in front of himself and remained quiet. There were things he would have liked to have said to Mrs. Barton, tell her just how incredible and wonderful her youngest son had grown up to be. That he was a hero in every sense of the word; children looked up to him and wanted to be like him when they grew up; his team members respected him and cared for him deeply. Phil would have assured her that Clint was a _good man_. He had a heart of gold and really only wanted to help people, even if it didn’t always work out so well for him in the end.  That Clint was Phil’s best friend, and that he was pretty hopelessly in love with him.  
  
Clint sniffled loudly, his hand coming up to try and fight off the tears that would not be ignored. His whole body tense, shoulders shaking as he ground his teeth, Clint’s intense eyes darkened as he finally let out a sob.  
  
“Fuck you, Dad,” His voice was tight, so full of raw emotion and malice that Phil took just a half step back to give Clint room.  
  
“Fuck you and your fucking booze. Your fucking temper! Why’d you make her go for a stupid drive with you? She didn’t even wanna go! You fuckin’ bullied her into the car! Always finding the best ways to hurt us, you drunken sadistic bastard.” Clint’s sobs shook his body as he clenched his fists by his side. “And...God...Mom why didn’t you ever just _leave_? Gotten the hell outta there! You could have and you didn’t! You let him bully you around and you didn’t even try to...you didn’t...he…”  
  
Phil was back at Clint’s side in an instant, wrapping his arms around his shoulders and pulling him in for a tight, supportive hug. It shattered his heart to see Clint sob in such a way, to hear him sound so broken inside.  
  
“She probably stayed for you. You and Bar--”  
  
“BULLSHIT!” Clint shoved Phil back, stumbling backwards from the effort as he shook his head fiercely. “She was fucking _terrified_ of the bastard! _That’s_ why she didn’t leave! She knew if she left, he’d have tracked her down and drug ‘er back home!”  
  
It was hard to tell if Clint was mad at his father for being so abusive to his family, or at his mother for being too afraid to do anything about it. Or if he was angry at the world in general at that point.  
  
“She let him bully us around. All of us! And that bastard knew he could! Now they’re both dead because of him! And I bet he’s laughing his fucking ass off knowing I’m next in line so he can wail on me some more when I get down there.”  
  
Phil swallowed hard. _Down there_...Clint couldn’t possibly believe he’d wind up in Hell…  
  
“Clint...you’re not--”  
  
“DON’T FUCKING SAY IT, COULSON! I’m fucking _dying_ and that bastard is probably finding it the funniest shit in the world that I’m goin’ out at the same age he did.”  
  
“Barton, stop. Listen to me--”  
  
Stumbling backwards again, Clint shook his head harder, digging into his jeans pocket for the bottle of pills. He held them up for Phil to see. “These fucking things aren’t _working_ , Coulson!” He hollered, turning and chucking them far across the grassy plain and into the adjoining field.  
  
Phil’s heart stopped and he stepped forward two seconds too late to stop him.  
  
“I’m gonna fucking die and there’s not a damn thing you, or the Brain Trust twins can do about it, except prolong the inevitable! So fuck you, too! Taking me on this Goddamn road trip because you feel fucking guilty. YOU LEFT ME, TOO!”  
  
The words echoed across the open space around them and pierced Phil straight through his heart. Somehow, it hurt worse than the scepter Loki had stabbed him with. Taking a chance, he stepped forward again, ignoring Clint’s adamant head shaking. With two moves, Phil’s arms were back around him, pulling him in and holding him tight.  
  
It suddenly all made sense. How cold and aggravated Clint could be towards him. It wasn’t just because of the alien disease, it was because he honestly believed Phil was doing this all out of guilt. In hopes to gain forgiveness for seemingly abandoning him.  
  
“I’m sorry,” Phil murmured, lips pressed against Clint’s neck. “I’m so sorry, Clint. I never should have made you think you’d lost someone else. I should have told you as soon as I was well enough to speak, Fury’s orders be damned. I should have told you...I’m sorry…”  
  
Clint’s sobs shook through his body as his knees finally gave out. Collapsing into Phil’s arms, the pair sank to the ground in a heap of limbs and awkwardness.  
  
“I’m tired,” cried Clint, pressing his face into Phil’s shoulder. “I...I’m tired and I hurt so fucking much, all the fucking time. I can’t...I can’t draw my bow anymore. Just holding the damn thing’s almost impossible…”  
  
Wetting his suddenly dry lips and gulping past the lump in his throat, Phil gently rocked them side to side, his hand smoothing soothing circles into Clint’s back slowly.  
  
Whimpering, Clint did his best to cling all the harder to him. “...I’m scared, Phil. I don’t wanna die...I…”  
  
“Shh, I know, Clint. I know,” Phil’s lips pressed firm, reassuring kisses to Clint’s temple and hair before he rested his cheek atop Clint’s head. “I’m scared, too.”  



	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those of you waiting for Phil and Clint to get their acts together, you're welcome. I'm also still terribly sorry. 
> 
> And for the sake of story telling, pretend for a little while that it's not horribly illegal to climb to the Hollywood sign and sit in the letters. Pretend there's not a fence around it, or motion sensor cameras, and its own little police squad that makes sure no one gets near it, and that there's not deadly animals lurking in the brush that could strike out at night and kill you. Okay? For the sake of story telling, none of that exists.

The air between Phil and Clint seemed lighter as they continued their way westward after Clint’s breakdown in the cemetery. Putting all that fear and worry out there helped to free them, to get them to relax a bit and just run with things. They left the highways for the more traveled backroads, only getting on interstates when it was absolutely necessary. The radio was turned on and for a while it was as if they were on a mission again, fighting over who got control of the radio and how loud it should be.

Their second night on the road, Phil abruptly pulled into a parking lot and ordered Clint out of the car. He took Clint by the arm carefully and smirked as they wandered around behind a small Chinese restaurant, pointing to the ladder that would take them to the roof. Once up top, he took the heavily creased note from his pocket, ticking another thing off the list.

_Stand on the Great Wall of China._

Standing the Great Wall of China Chinese Restaurant was going to have to be good enough.

 

* * *

 

Despite Clint’s offers and insistence that he could drive for a bit, Phil continued to do all of the driving. They made minor stops along the way to stretch their legs, lay out in the grass at the roadside rest stops and parks, before continuing on down through Colorado, across Utah, and finally into Nevada. Just as before, their destination remained a mystery to Clint as they drove through the desert, heading for the bright spot on the horizon like a beautiful oasis.

It was just dusk by the time they finally reached Las Vegas and pulled up to their hotel. There was a playful smile itching at the corners of Clint’s mouth as he carefully climbed from the car and only put up a token fight at not being allowed to carry any bags.

“Ya know, Coulson, call me old fashioned, but you’re gonna hafta ask Natasha for her blessing if you were planning to elope with me.” He teased, nudging shoulders as they made their way from the front desk to the elevators.

Phil rolled his eyes, though he had a smile of his own trying to play at his lips. “Same sex marriages aren’t legal in Nevada yet, Barton. Besides, if I get married, I’d rather it not be presided over by a Fat Elvis.”

Clint laughed at that, the sound bouncing off the walls of the elevator as they rode up to their sixteenth floor suite, and Phil was certain it was the best sound in the world.

The room itself was everything to be expected from a Las Vegas hotel. Though, given their location, it was actually probably one of the more sedate ones. Paris Las Vegas hotel was by no means cheap, after all. There was a full marble bathroom with both a shower and a tub that all looked far too fancy to be used. A king sized bed in the middle of the room, a loveseat just to the right of it. There was a chair and a table, just as there would be in any other hotel, and the gentle creams and blues of the decor made it feel comfortable, homey.

It was the window though that caught Clint’s attention as soon as they walked in the room. Floor to ceiling view that looked out down into a courtyard, but more importantly out onto the scale replica of the Eiffel Tower.

Warmth rushed up Phil’s neck and cheeks, realizing that his plan to tick the next thing off the list had probably just been botched. Clint knew the things he had written on his list, he wasn’t an idiot by any means. Swallowing hard, Phil dropped their bags and took a breath.

It was now or never.

“Are you hungry? Feel like going for a bite to eat?”

Clint turned from the window and Phil felt his breath catch in his chest. There was a look in Clint’s eyes that he’d seen only a handful of times before. Hope, self-depreciation and doubt in there as well, but there was definitely hope in his eyes.

“Yeah. Food sounds great…”

It was the thickness to Clint’s voice that made Phil gulp all the harder and give a nod. He turned to their bags and pulled out a nice pale blue button up shirt for himself and a black one for Clint. There was probably a certain level of formality required for where they would be going. It was Las Vegas after all.

“You may want to change clothes. I packed a pair of slacks for you,” Phil said, handing the shirt off to Clint before switching out his T-shirt for the dress shirt. He turned his back, giving Clint a moment of privacy so they could both change. Navy slacks for himself and it was only by pure dumb luck that he and Clint had a similar shoe size. He set the extra shoes on the bed, stealing a glance to watch as Clint buttoned his shirt and tucked it into the black slacks he’d been provided.

God, Phil was so gone for him.

Once dressed and looking as respectable as they could, Phil grabbed up their room key as he turned to start for the door. Clint right on his heels.

There was a reason Phil had picked the Paris Las Vegas, it had a beautiful view, and it was within walking distance of the Eiffel Tower Restaurant. At the moment, Clint still seemed to be okay with walking for awhile, though Phil didn’t want to take any chances. Especially not now that the pills Bruce had made for Clint were somewhere in a field in Iowa. They walked quietly, shoulder to shoulder to the glass elevator that would take them up eleven storeys to the actual restaurant, where they were greeted and shown to a table, a small folded placard stating “Reserved. Coulson party of 2” at the center of it.

Out the window in front of them, the lights of the city twinkled and flashed, casting their glow across the windows and white tablecloths. They danced across the plains of Clint’s face, causing his already mysterious eyes to change colors all the more. Phil found himself getting just a little bit lost in watching the way Clint frowned at the menu, turned it over, frowned harder and turned it back around.

“Li’l pricey, ain’t it?” He questioned quietly, leaning in towards Phil just enough to discreetly whisper to him.

Phil hid his smirk well and shrugged his shoulders. “A little, I suppose.”

Clint’s laugh was enough to quiet the tables around them, though neither seemed to care.

“God, Fury’s gonna love you for this whole trip, isn’t he?”

The smirk was beyond being hid, and Phil’s eyes twinkled with mischief as he hummed noncommittally, set his menu down and folded his hands carefully over top.

“The Char Broiled Filet Mignon sounds good. I think I’m going to have that.” He answered instead, avoiding Clint’s question with gentle ease and a smug little smile. “I was thinking we could split the Grand Seafood Platter, too, to start off with. The one with the lobster, crab, oyster and clams? And you’d probably like the New York Steak.”

Clint nearly choked looking at the prices, but nodded in agreement. If SHIELD was paying, might as well buy the most expensive foods on the menu.

 

* * *

 

The plain black credit card made another appearance to pay for their --very expensive, but incredibly delicious-- meals.Clint chuckled under his breath the whole time, giggling about how bad Fury was going to kill Phil for all the expenses being charged to SHIELD. Accounting was going to string him up, no doubt, once Fury had finished with him.

From the restaurant, it was another trip in the glass elevator that took them the rest of the way up the center of the famed tower and came to a stop at the observation deck, 460 feet off the ground. It was enough to make other people nauseous; Clint leaned against the safety grating and instead looked straight down. Somewhere behind them, an ambassador was telling a group of tourists about the history of the tower, the location, and pointing out other notable landmarks around them. Phil wasn’t listening. He was watching. Watching as Clint’s fingers curled into the metal wires keeping people from leaning too far over the edge.

The breeze ruffled through their hair as he stepped up to Clint’s side, pressing his arm and shoulder against Clint’s. He could feel the warmth where their limbs met, and also the significant lack of muscle that had been in those arms not all that long before. While it tore his heart out to think about it, Phil did his best to ignore it, and instead lean in a bit closer to whisper.

“Far cry from being perched atop the actual Eiffel Tower, isn’t it?”

Clint hummed but nodded. “Yeah. Nobody’s shooting at me here,” He paused, turning his head to meet Coulson’s gaze. “Company’s a lot better, too.”

“I was with you on that op,”

“You were a thousand feet, straight down, and just a voice in my ear. Believe me, it was great and all, but still pretty fucking lonely.”

Pain and regret flashed across Phil’s face as he turned his body so his hip was pressed to the guardrail. “I’m sorry, Clint. It never occurred to me that--”

“Don’t,” Clint shook his head, turning so he could face Phil straight on. “Just...forget it. Doesn’t matter anymore. Having you in my ear the whole time I was up there is probably what kept me from just saying ‘Fuck it’ and taking the express elevator straight down. Ya know?” He shrugged, the tip of his tongue coming out to run over his suddenly dry lips.

Not that Phil tracked the motion or anything.

Standing there quiet for a moment, Clint shrugged and fiddled with the cuffs of his shirt, avoiding Phil’s gaze. “ ‘Sides, wasn’t like we were on a vacation or something. Not like I could have convinced you to wander around Paris with me. Take in the sights. Have you tell me all about all those historical things that go straight over my head. Taken you up to the top of the tower at night so I could maybe kiss you…” Clint’s voice went painfully soft. Enough so it made Phil’s chest seize up.

Swallowing hard past the lump in his throat, Phil stepped forward just a hair, his hand coming out to rest on Clint’s hip. He tilted his head back just ever so slightly to meet the gaze that Barton didn’t want him to see.

“...I’m here now. We’re at the top of _AN_ Eiffel Tower…”

Clint shook his head, his eyes closed. “No. I don’t...I don’t want it out of pity or guilt or anything. I wanted it cuz I--”

“I want to kiss you, Clint,” Phil cut in, not giving him a chance to finish that thought. “I want to kiss you because I’m attracted to you. I have been for...God, _Years_. I just never thought you--”

Warm, soft lips were suddenly on him, an arm holding him around the waist, pulling him in closer as they shared their first kiss. It was hardly anything more than a brush of lips at first, as if they were both afraid if it was much more than that, they’d find out it was actually just a dream instead. When they pulled back and looked each other in the eyes, though, saw the hope and longing there, Phil leaned back in quickly. The hand that had been holding the railing moved to rest on Clint’s cheek, his day old stubble scratching at Phil’s palm as their lips pressed together harder, longer, this time.

They held each other for dear life as Phil’s tongue slipped out to trace along Clint’s lips. He sighed from deep down inside as Clint’s lips parted and their tongues met for the first time. Slow and exploratory, they learned each other’s mouths, pulling off just enough to capture a bottom lip between teeth before letting go in favor of deepening the kiss once more.

It took a couple of minutes before they were finally ready to break apart and rest their foreheads together. Lips bright red and puffy, their breath mingled between them as they tried to settle their pulses and get air back into their lungs.

Phil’s eyes fluttered open, lifting to look into Clint’s. He could count all the different colors there, and all the different ways they changed depending on the lights. He could also see all the pain Clint was trying to keep hidden, his sadness and fear. They’d finally gotten their acts together, and now their days were numbered. Letting his eyes close again, Phil nudged their noses together gently, brushing another few feather light kisses across Clint’s mouth.

“C’mon,” He murmured against Clint’s lips, “Let’s head back to the room.”

Clint’s quiet whimper sent a warm wave through Phil, straight south.

Without a word, Phil linked their fingers together and pulled Clint back to the elevator. They kissed quickly, gently, a few more times on the way back down, completely ignoring the people who came on at the restaurant level. Their world had officially narrowed down to exactly two. It was actually incredible that both Phil and Clint were able to relax so completely like that; to be able to ride in the elevator with strangers and not be at a constant state of ready just in case one of the passengers decided to blow a gasket and become some strange creature or try to kill everyone on board. For perhaps the first time in their long histories of being SHIELD agents, Agents Coulson and Barton were just as oblivious as everyone else.

 

* * *

 

Even before their door was shut, Clint’s hands were on Phil’s hips, pulling their bodies flush as he dropped warm kisses from Phil’s collar, up his neck, and back around to his lips. Neither spoke as they carefully made their way to the bed, shirts being unbuttoned and slid slowly down their arms. There was no frantic scramble here, no desperate need to get undressed as quickly as possible so they could bring each other off in record time.

This was slow and tender. This was years of friendship finally reaching that next step up. This was knowing they may never have another chance, and needing to take their time in order to make it last, commit every sound, every sensation, to memory. Take their time, they did; letting things slow burn between them as they both laid across the bed, barely breaking the kiss as they did so.

Phil’s head rolled back and to the side as Clint’s lips trailed along his shoulders and neck, the feel of the nips and licks causing his slacks to become uncomfortably tight. His body arched up into Clint’s touches, quiet sighs of pleasure escaping him each time Clint spent just a little extra time kissing, licking, and nuzzling certain places on his neck or chest. And when Clint began to pay even more attention to the rigid scar above his heart, brushing his lips and apologies over the sensitive outline of it, Phil wanted to cling to him and never let go.

The blankets were cool and soft under his heated skin as Clint made his way down Phil’s body. The calloused fingers of a man used to working with his hands gently scratched down across chest, stomach and sides, igniting the nerve endings and making them stand up and beg for more. Clint’s stubbled cheeks tickled at his stomach when he paused to kiss and nuzzle a scar near Phil’s navel.

It was rather surprising how quiet they both were. More surprising that Clint was the quieter one of them. He’d never pictured Clint as being quiet when it came to sex. Lord knew the man never seemed to shut up any other time, always having some smart mouthed reply or sarcastic joke to shoot back at people. Phil knew he was quiet, it was the curse of being raised in a household where the two worst things you could do were masturbate and be gay. As luck would have it, he did both. It was now an ingrained trait to be as quiet and yet still responsive as possible. He just never imagined Clint was near silent, too.

Oh, but responsive Phil was. Between his body rising and writhing under Clint, his soft huffs and bit off whines of want, and his fingers curling into the soft, thick blond-brown hair, oh yes, Phil was still very much responsive.

Phil lifted his hips when Clint began to tug and pull his slacks and boxers down lower, still committing every inch of skin to memory as it was revealed to him. The lack of pressure confining him to his slacks had Phil pressing his lips together hard in order to keep the groan in. When Clint’s hands were on him, holding him in place as his mouth and tongue learned every little ridge and vein of his cock, Phil’s head fell back into the soft pillows with a low, whispered moan.

In the back of his mind, he cursed himself for not having made his attraction known sooner. All those times he and Clint could have spent exploring each other’s bodies, learning what drove the other completely up the wall and then using that knowledge to tease them to the brink of madness before bringing them to their blessed release. If only he’d said something months -- _years_ \-- ago! They could have been doing this while they were both healthy and in their primes.

Those thoughts were silenced, at least for the moment, when Clint’s head began bobbing up and down him in earnest. Phil’s fingers curled into the hair at the nape of Clint’s neck, tightening just to hold on as Clint swallowed him down, gulping around his tip before pulling off with a soft gasp and going right back to it again.

When he came, it was sudden and without much warning. Phil felt the coil of tension in his stomach tighten once, twice and then snap, sending him hard and fast over the edge. His hips rose up off the bed, one hand still curled in Clint’s hair, the other tight around the blankets as he pressed his head back into the pillows with a silent sob, his body twitching from the force of it.

He could feel Clint groan around him, the stuttered breath against his skin, and it was only as he was coming down from his high that he realized the bed was moving in such a way to indicate that Clint was bringing himself off as well. Still trying to recover, Phil panted, shaking his head as he tried to pull Clint back up to him.

“C-Clint...Clint...let me,” He murmured, gently pulling Clint’s hand out of his own slacks. Clint didn’t put up much of a fight as he rolled over and let the clothes be gently pulled from his body.

His hip bones stuck out slightly from the lack of muscle there, ribs beginning to show a bit more as well. Phil tried not to think about any of that though. He focused his blissed out mind instead on wrapping his hand around Clint’s hard shaft, pressing his lips to Clint’s mouth, and kissing him slow and deep while moving his hand firm and fast, up down, up down, up down. Greedily swallowing up the gasps and whines of pleasure coming from Clint as he did so.

When he felt Clint’s body start to tense and tremble, Phil pulled his mouth away gently, kissed his way down Clint’s stomach and wrapped his lips around the tip. A groan escaped them both, Phil’s eyes falling shut as he pressed his tongue to the thick vein and began to suck. Clint was a wonderful, heady and heavy weight on his tongue, the salty-bitter taste of him filled Phil’s senses and made him sigh with pleasure.

It didn’t take much before Clint was sobbing out quietly, his arm falling across his mouth to try and cover most of the sound. Phil sucked and licked more, swallowing down every last hot salty drop Clint had to give before he was completely spent and sated. He waited for Clint’s body to relax into the bed before pulling off, licking up any come that might have gotten past him.

A hand rested on Clint’s chest, moving in gentle circles over his heart and down across his stomach, then back up again, as Phil slowly made his way back up to lay flush against him. If there were tears in either men’s eyes, no one but themselves would ever have to know about it.

And if they clung to each other like the only thing keeping either of them afloat as they silently allowed the tears to roll down their cheeks? No one had to know that either.

 

* * *

 

The rest of the night was spent lying in bed, just talking. Phil laid with his head on Clint’s chest for a time, relishing in having those talented fingers stroking through his hair as they reminisced about their favorite missions and ops locations. At near three in the morning, they switched so Clint was half laying on Phil. The conversation changed to their personal pasts, shared experiences with a brother who wasn’t always the greatest guy in the world. Phil told Clint of the fight he’d had with Cliff and their father ten years prior, how it was the last time he’d seen his father alive and that he’d been sent on a mission to Morocco and had to miss the wake and funeral. Clint shared the story of the last time he’d seen his parents alive, and his reaction to the police coming to their door to tell him and Barney they’d died.

When the morning light began to creep up over the horizon, they put their boxers on to order room service and have breakfast in bed. Stuffed French Toast and bacon for Clint, with two large glasses of milk; chocolate crepes and eggs over easy, a glass of milk and orange juice for Phil.

The time they spent not sleeping against each other was spent watching the other television show Clint had thought about watching all in one day, _The Unusuals_ , and as it was only ten episodes, they managed to accomplish it. It was a quirky show, and both Clint and Phil were pissed that it never got the closure it deserved.

Phil also spent much of the day holding Clint tight in his arms as more and more muscle spasms and cramps wrecked through him. Nearly six days without the medication and the attacks were becoming more frequent, more painful, leaving Clint weak and tired. He did his best to quietly soothe him, coax him through the pain and fear of not being in control of what his body did.

While Clint slept to recover from the spells, Phil silently prayed to any deity he could think of to help the younger man get through the next few days. At least to make it to Hollywood and up to the sign. Phil wanted to be able to give him just one last thing on his list if possible.

 

* * *

 

The four hour drive from Las Vegas to Hollywood took nearly eight by the time they stopped for fuel, food, and the three times Clint’s body waged its vicious war against him. It was nearly eight pm when they finally collapsed on their King sized bed at the Roosevelt, where they stayed the rest of the night and well into the next afternoon, only getting up to use the bathroom and open the door for room service.

It was late in the afternoon when they finally did emerge, Clint having convinced Phil he finally felt pretty good and was ready to go walk around for a while. They wandered up and down the Walk of Fame, reading the names and trying to decide if they recognized most of them or not. They found actors hand prints in the cement that were the same size as their own and Phil managed to find someone who would take their picture in front of Grauman's Chinese Theatre. Phil’s arm stayed secure and protective around Clint’s waist as they were jostled and bumped into while wandering through gift shops, and when Clint started getting too tired to walk around, they caught a bus promising to take them to see where all the big Hollywood stars lived and even up to the Hollywood sign.

Clint slept through the whole tour.

When it had grown dark and they’d eaten a decent enough meal, Phil called them a cab to take them back up as far to the Hollywood sign as they could possibly get before hiking the rest of the way. It was maybe a little terrifying to be sitting on the cross bar of a giant wooden H, staring out over a valley and the bustling film city below, but with Clint by his side, Phil was fine.

They sat in silence for a long while, just staring at the bright lights, hands lightly clasped between them. Phil took in how much more fragile Clint’s hand felt, the way his T-Shirt hung so loosely off his body, as if he were some little kid wearing his big brother’s clothes instead of the grown man he was. It was terrifying that in the light from the sign, the dark, heavy bags under Clint’s eyes looked even more pronounced, the shallow and sunken draw of his cheeks more evident than they’d been earlier. Even the color of Clint’s skin had shifted from gorgeous, healthy golden tan to a sickly ashen tone. He was quickly becoming a shell of the man he’d once been.

“They’re not gonna find a way to cure me, are they?” Clint finally questioned, his eyes never leaving the vista before them.

Phil swallowed hard as he shrugged his shoulders, gently squeezing Clint’s hand. “They’re going to do everything in their powers to make you well again.”

A half-snort of a laugh escaped Clint, his head moving side to side slowly. “At least I’m going out because of something stupidly cool...like alien bad mojo, instead of something stupid like…”

“AIDS? Cancer?”

“Those aren’t stupid.”

“No,” Phil shook his head and looked back out over the valley, “But the fact that they are perfectly human diseases that have been around for decades upon decades and still don’t have a cure is.”

Clint sighed heavily, an action that ended in a harsh cough and feeble groan. Phil wanted to keep on believing that they would get a call any moment from Bruce and Stark, frantically telling them to get back to New York because they did finally find a cure. Carefully, he pulled the worn list from his pocket again and stared down at it. They’d managed to mark off quite a few that Clint hadn’t already marked off on his own, but there were still far too many to try and finish.

Frowning, he held the list out to Clint. “Pick one more thing. Whatever one you want to do the most next.”

For a moment, Phil feared Clint wouldn’t take the list, would just tell him he was too tired to do anything else, but he didn’t. Clint’s dull eyes looked down at his chicken scratch writing and he frowned all the more. Hesitantly, he pointed to third to last bullet point, a quiet noise bubbling up when he saw “Have someone love me” was already crossed off above it.

“This one…”

Phil looked down and felt his insides knot up, tears instantly prickling the backs of his eyes.

_Get married._

It was just two little words, but in their line of work, getting married was practically a pipedream. If you weren’t already married and with kids when you entered SHIELD, there was a good chance you wouldn’t ever be. Not unless you broke regulations and formed a relationship with another agent.

Phil had begun to appreciate breaking certain rules since his mysterious resurrection.

“Okay,” He nodded, taking the note back and pulling his phone out instead.

He could feel Clint’s confused gaze on him as he started swiping across the screen furiously, doing well to keep his hands from shaking while he looked up possible locations that would marry two men in a hurry and without being residents of the state.

“What are you doing?”

“Google search. It doesn’t have to be anything fancy, does it? Just a simple little thing? So long as the words are spoken and--”

“Coulson, we can’t get married. I--”

Phil’s head shot up and he turned to look at Clint. “Why not? We’ve already established the fact we’ve been attracted to each other for years. I,” He paused to take a breath, steadying himself again before he continued, “I love you. I’ve been in love with you for so long, and until the Loki incident, half of SHIELD believed us to be at least dating if not secretly married, so...why not? I want to marry you. If not to tick it off of your bucket list, then to take it off mine.”

Clint stared at him, jaw hanging slack and eyes wide in surprise. For one of the very few times in his life, Clint Barton had been rendered utterly speechless, and Phil Coulson had been the cause of each of those times.

“So either you ask me to marry you, or I ask. Either way, I’m thinking tomorrow’s a good day, providing I can find someone certified to do it.” Phil’s attention turned back to his phone, continuing his search while Clint kept on gaping at him.

“You…” Clint huffed a laugh, reaching his hand up to scrub through his hair, sticking it up in every direction. “God, Phil. You’re absolutely nuts, you know that?”

“It’s been mentioned once or twice throughout my life, yes.”

That earned Phil an honest, full laugh before his phone was taken from his hands, his chin turned and lips pressed to his in a gentle, firm and warm kiss. For a moment, everything was right in the world again. When they pulled apart, it was just enough for them to breathe, and for Clint’s lips to brush lightly over his own.

“Phil, marry me?”

“Gimme my phone back so I can find an officiant.”

 

 

* * *

 

“Do you, Phillip James Coulson, take Clinton Francis to be your lawfully wedded spouse? To love, honor, and cherish, in sickness and in health, for richer or poorer for as long as you both shall live?”

“...I Do.” Phil’s voice was soft, but calm as he looked Clint directly in the eyes. He could feel that his weren’t the only palms that were sweaty, and it made him feel better knowing that there were maybe a few tears welled up in Clint’s eyes as well while the preacher spoke.

At Phil’s promise, a relieved and slightly dumbstruck smile crossed Clint’s face. The preacher’s smile was soft, though maybe a bit sad as he looked between the two men. Phil thought it must be obvious that they were getting married quickly due to Clint’s health. He squeezed Clint’s hand gently, brushing his thumb over Clint’s left ring finger where maybe in the next day or so they could get a ring to put on it.

For now, the words and promises would have to be enough.

Giving them a moment, the preacher finally turned his gaze on Clint. “Do you, Clinton Francis Barton, take Phillip James to be your lawfully wedded spouse? To love, honor, and cherish, in sickness and in health, for richer or poorer for as long as you both shall live?”

Clint swallowed hard as he nodded. “Yeah. Yeah I do.”

“Then by the power invested in me by the state of California, I now pronounce you partners in life and love. Congratulations. You may now kiss.”

The words had barely left the man’s mouth before Clint had pulled Phil into his arms and was kissing him with everything he was worth. Pouring years worth of unspoken admiration and unwavering loyalty into one single action. Who knew how long they’d have as a married couple?

 

* * *

 

For two more mornings, Phil woke to find himself pressed to Clint’s side, their fingers linked and the cheap rush job for rings glittering in the early morning light. It was still incredibly hard to believe they actually got married. Granted, it was a rushed little ceremony at some little roadside chapel, with just the preacher, his wife, and his wife’s mother for witnesses, but it was still a wedding nonetheless.

The first morning they woke up to tender touches and barely-there-kisses. Using the excuse of it being the day after their wedding to make each other squirm and writhe in pleasure. The rest of their day was spent sitting on the beach, just watching the waves, Phil’s arms and legs bracketing Clint as he held the man close and dotted kisses across his shoulders and neck. They didn’t speak much, in fact Clint spent a lot of the time outdoors asleep or curling up in agonizing pain. ‘Skin and bones’ was quickly becoming a phrase Phil hoped he never would ever hear again.

It worried him when Clint turned down breakfast, barely touched his lunch, and really wasn’t at all interested in having supper. His clothes hung off him more than they had before, the alien disease having seemed to have kicked it into high gear. By the time the pair returned to their room, Phil was half carrying Clint, his legs refusing to hold his weight any longer. He held Clint the whole night, doing what he could to ease the pain that cropped up and sent his best friend, the love of his life, into fits and tears.

The second morning Phil woke up to beautiful sunlight pouring through their window, and the sounds of desperate, struggled breathing beside him. Sitting upright, his eyes wide in fear, Phil reached out to Clint. A fever had set in at some point during the night, soaking him clear through his clothes and the sheets.

“Clint. Clint?” His hand slipping under Clint’s shoulders, Phil helped him to sit up, hoping it would help him to breathe easier. When it didn’t, and Clint’s head lulled loosely onto Phil’s chest, the agent known for his unflappable calm suddenly found himself starting to panic.

Phil propped pillows up behind Clint before he shoved himself out of bed and grabbed his jeans, feeling around the pockets for his cellphone. Behind him, Clint whined and listed pathetically, his eyes still closed and a distressing sound wheezing out of him with each breath.

“Hold on, Clint. Just hold on…” Phil settled himself beside Clint again, pulling the man back in against his chest. His phone pressed to his ear, Phil called upon years and years of training to keep from just snapping when the line at the other end picked up.

“This is Agent Phil Coulson, authorization code X-Ray 2896. Priority One. I need a SHIELD medical team at the Roosevelt Hollywood Hotel, room 567. Agent down. Repeat, this is a Priority One.”

_”Yes’sir!”_

“Have a Quinjet immediately ready for transport to Stark Tower. Alert Dr. Banner that I will be arriving and tell him if he’s got anymore tricks up his sleeve for Agent Barton, he’d better have them ready.”

_”Sir.”_

Tossing the phone to the nightstand, Phil wrapped his arms around Clint, blatantly ignoring the fact he could wrap them so completely around him. He pressed kisses to Clint’s forehead as he smoothed his hand down Clint’s back, hitting every bump and ridge of his spine along the way.

“Hold on, Clint...just hold on…”

 


	7. Chapter 7

It spoke volumes that, for a moment, all the other Avengers could do was stand and stare as the gurney carrying Clint was rushed past them into Stark Tower. It hardly even looked like their friend. A ghost of pained horror crossed Steve’s face at the realization Clint now appeared to be damn near the same weight as he was pre-serum. He was rail thin, his chest rising and falling quickly as the SHIELD medical crew did what they could to ensure he stayed breathing.

When the initial shock wore off, Bruce and Tony sprang into action, ushering the med team and Coulson into the elevator, the team rattling off Clint’s vitals in a way that was beyond terrifying.

“Let’s get him to his suite. Thor arrived just before you guys. He’s brought help, I just hope it’s not too late,” Bruce frowned, his hand resting on Clint’s forehead as the man whined and squirmed weakly.

When the elevator stopped at Clint’s floor, the group was met by another small group; four beautiful women -- Thor’s mother among them -- and the God of Thunder himself. Had Phil not been worried over Clint, he would have taken a moment to appreciate the fact he was in the presence of these otherworldly beings. His mind was too focused on Clint though.

“Son of Coul,” Thor caught Phil’s arm, bringing him to a stop while everyone else rushed on ahead. For a split second Phil thought about trying his luck to break away and go running after them. He had to stay with Clint, to make sure the man would be okay.

“I apologize for not coming to our friend’s aid sooner. I seek your forgiveness--”

Phil’s face hardened, his resolve to break free strengthened, he yanked his arm free from the deity’s hold. “If… _When_ Clint recovers from this, we’ll discuss that. Not now.”

Thor’s face fell all the more, his shoulders sagging slightly as he nodded and took a step back. “I brought our two finest healers, the high priestess, and my mother -- all of whom are known on my world for their experience in healing. They will do the best that they can to keep our warrior brother with us.”

“Let’s hope so.” His face stoic, Phil turned to make his way to Clint’s room, not wanting to deal with Thor’s kicked puppy expression.

Slipping into the room was like stepping into a science fiction movie. Clint was laid out on his bed, his clothes discarded, a glowing, sheer sheet placed over his body instead. The SHIELD medical crew were fighting one of the women about leaving the equipment on and in place, arguing that Clint needed it to live, while Bruce and Tony insisted that they would not move until they were certain Clint would survive whatever it was they intended to do.

Two of the healers stood on either side of Clint, their eyes closed and hands hovering over his body, lips moving silently. Frigga stood by his head, watching the quickly escalating chaos before her sharp eyes landed on Phil in the doorway. Chin lifted and shoulders back, she stepped away from Clint.

“Enough,” The word filled the air, though it was spoken not any louder than a normal tone, successfully causing everyone in the room to stop what they were doing and turned to face her.

“Remove your primitive machines and leave this room. Everyone must leave if we are to help this warrior.” She turned her eyes first to the med team, then to Bruce and Tony. “Immediately.”

A brave, or perhaps stupid (Phil wasn’t quite sure), tech stepped forward, face set in grim determination. “With all due respect--”

Frigga’s stern gaze turned to him, stopping him cold in his tracks. “I highly do doubt that.” Her frown firmly in place, the she raised her hand in motion to the door. “Now leave this room, all of you. All but for you,”

Phil swallowed past the lump that had been forming in his throat when her gaze stopped on him. He stepped wordlessly farther into the room, ignoring Stark’s indignant stare.

“You must stay for the moment.”

If anyone made a fuss about the fact Phil was allowed to stay, he failed to notice or acknowledge it. His eyes were focused solely on the bed, watching as the three healers moved their hands over Clint’s body. He didn’t move an inch when Stark was pushed past him, Bruce’s hand firm in the center of the billionaire’s back to keep him walking.

When the room was empty, Frigga approached him, her hand resting lightly on his shoulder and a kind, sympathetic gleam to her eyes. “His soul is conflicted,” She spoke softly, not wanting to jar Phil in any way. “Torn between wanting to give up, or to keep fighting.”

“No,” Phil shook his head, lips pressed together tightly in a thin line. “Clint’s a fighter. He always has been. He doesn’t know what it means to give up.”

“A warrior is only as strong as those that he fights alongside,” Her hand moved from his shoulder to his elbow, pulling him towards the bed. “Sit beside him, speak to him. Let him know you fight by his side, still.”

Being moved into the chair at the side of the bed, Phil’s eyes trailed down Clint’s supine body, gaze resting on his chest to make sure it rose and fell, before he finally sat. He reached out to hold Clint’s hand, thumb brushing over the ring that was still there. There was a fine golden glow that surrounded Clint, pulsing gently like a faint heartbeat and that shimmered each time one of the healers moved their hands one way or another.

“Clint,” Phil’s voice was calm and quiet, just as it was any other time he would sit at Clint’s bedside in medical and talk to him. “You’re going to pull through this. I have faith in you.”

He lifted his eyes to glance at the women once more before he continued. “I’m right here, Clint. I’m not going to leave you. Not again.” His hand squeezed Clint’s gently before bringing it up to his lips, brushing a soft kiss over his knuckles. “I love you and I’ll be damned if I’m going to just allow you to give up and let this alien disease beat you. You need to stay strong, like you have been these last few weeks together.

“Stay strong, and pull through this, so we can finish off all the rest of the things on your list; and then start a new one. Together.”

Phil’s voice wavered slightly as tears threatened to fall again. He moved the chair closer to the bed, letting Clint’s hand back down onto the mattress, their fingers still linked, and rested his head on the pillow next to him. Carefully, he brushed a kiss across Clint’s temple.

“Please, Clint. I just got you. Don’t leave me now.”

* * *

 

Two hours passed before Phil finally shuffled from Clint’s room, quietly shutting the door behind him. The others had gathered in Clint’s living room, scattered about in various places and all seemingly lost in their own minds.

Natasha sat curled up on Clint’s couch, the purple, black, and red afghan wrapped around her as she pressed her face into it. Clint had picked the afghan up in Germany on a mission eight years ago, just a few short years after Natasha had joined their ranks. He’d shown it to Phil and Natasha proudly, proclaiming that it was obvious they were world renowned legends if people were making blankets using their trademark colors.

On the floor by the window, Bruce sat cross legged, his eyes closed. Phil could understand why, and appreciated how the doctor had managed to keep himself from stressing to the point of releasing The Other Guy. Beside him, Tony paced and frowned at his StarkPad, furiously scribbling away at it and muttering to himself.

Steve was sitting stiffly in one of the overstuffed chairs set up in the corner of the room. His sketchpad was in his lap, a pencil in his hand, but it was obvious there was nothing on the paper. His eyes were focused on a spot on the floor, distant and no doubt lost in memories of his own small, frail, and fragile body so many years ago.

Thor stood, pensive and thoughtful, at the window on the other end of the room. His arms folded over his broad chest as he stared out across the city; watching as the sun moved across the sky, bouncing light off the glass and steel surrounding them.

For once, everyone was quiet. Phil allowed himself the smile that came with the thought that he’d have to write down the date, time and place that five superheroes were all in the same room and completely quiet together. No one would ever believe him elsewise.

When he stepped farther into the room, it was Natasha who noticed him first and moved to stand. There was worry and concern etched on her face as he came towards the couch to sit down. He knew how he must look. Two day’s growth of stubble on his cheeks, a T-shirt on that clearly belonged to Clint, and faded old jeans. Not to mention the dark circles under his red puffy eyes, hair slightly mussed. No one, not even Natasha, had ever seen him so dressed down and out of sorts before. Not unless it was for a mission, and even then he’d managed to keep some air of professionalism and dignity about him.

“How is he?”

Her quiet question was enough to have the others snap to attention and move to crowd around the couch. Phil didn’t answer right away. Instead, he breathed in deeply, leaned back and just rubbed his hands across his face. He was tired, bone deep exhausted, and the others deserved answers, he just wanted a minute to sit and process.

“They’re still working on him,” The words sounded distant in his own ears as he finally lowered his hands and rested his head back against the cushions to stare up at the ceiling. “There’s a significant amount of internal damage caused by the toxins. It wasn’t just attacking his muscles, it started attacking his organs this morning.”

A dainty hand found his right hand and clasped it gently. A reassuring touch for both Natasha and Phil. Without a thought, he crossed his left arm over to set his hand atop hers. The thin silver band on his finger catching the light.

“They’re doing what they can, but they’re not--”

“I’m sorry, wait, what the hell is that?”

Phil lifted his head, suddenly very alert in case a situation had presented itself. He sat confused when there was nothing wrong, and yet Stark was still staring at him like he’d sprouted wings.

“Tony…” Bruce murmured at the same time Steve admonished with a firm, _”Stark.”_

“No, no c’mon! I want to know how it is Agent left for a one month tour of the country and came back married and pierced. You get inked while you were out, too?”

Warmth worked its way up Phil’s neck and into the tips of his ears, drawing a far too pleased laugh out of the eccentric engineer. “Holy shit, you did! Where? It’s Cap’s shield isn’t it? C’mon little fanboy, you can tell us. We won’t--”

“Stark, enough.” Steve’s voice cut through the teasing and drew everyone up short. In all honesty, Phil appreciated Stark’s attempt to lighten the air. He knew all too well that serious situations made him uncomfortable, and for once, Phil was all too happy to let Tony rib him about things.

“No, Captain, it’s alright.” Phil pressed his lips together, took a moment and finally sat up a bit straighter to address Tony. “It’s a Phoenix. On my back left shoulder.”

The implication of what it was covering was enough to make Tony’s face fall just slightly, his dark eyes quickly darting away as he took a step back and moved to fiddle with his StarkPad again.

Phil felt more than he saw Natasha’s smile on him as she squeezed his hand gently and leaned into his side. He looked back down to the ring on his finger, thinking about the one that matched it and was across the suite. No one spoke another word after that. Slowly, they each returned to their own places to sit and wait for more news.

Natasha stayed curled into Phil’s side, the soft afghan magically wrapped around them both. It smelled so comfortingly of Clint. Enough so, that it caused his heart to ache painfully in his chest. He was still scared.

“When Clint gets better,” Natasha whispered, keeping her voice low as she rested her head on Phil’s shoulder. “You’re having a proper wedding with all of us present. ”

Chuckling softly, Phil nodded at the Russian. “I understand” _  
_

* * *

 

The living room was dark and still, the occupants having each drifted off to sleep where they sat. Somewhere within Clint’s suite, a clock beeped on the hour and reminded them that the healers and Frigga were still in Clint’s room, doing what they could to repair the damage that had been done. Phil was still on the couch, dozing with his head resting atop Natasha’s. For a woman who swore venomously that she did not snuggle, she was surprisingly good at it.

Down the hall, the door to Clint’s room opened silently, and a moment later shut just the same. The quartet of women moved without a sound into the living room, though it was Frigga who approached the couch and rested her hand on Phil’s shoulder. To her credit, she didn’t startle or draw back when Phil was instantly wide awake, his hand clasped firmly around her wrist.

“You may go sit with him, if you wish.” She said instead, glancing to where Natasha was suddenly sitting upright, then back to Phil.

“Is he alright?”

Frigga’s eyes softened, her smile small and sympathetic. “He has fallen to rest. There is nothing more we can do for him.”

Phil could feel the walls around him begin to crumble, the world closing in on him. It was hard to breathe. Hard to think. His brain was permanently stuck on a loop, “nothing more we can do for him.”

He knew Natasha was speaking to him, felt her hand on his shoulder, but the words were lost to the roar of blood rushing past his ears. Shaking his head, Phil pushed himself off the couch, away from his friend and from the healers -- who apparently hadn’t been any use at all -- and stumbled his way down the hall. Clint had ”fallen to rest”. And there was nothing anyone could do about it. In less than a week’s time Phil had managed to get the one thing he’d always wanted, and then lose it without even being able to say goodbye.

Moving on autopilot, Phil made it into Clint’s room and froze. Clint was lying completely still on the bed. The sheer Asgardian sheet still covered his body, though its glow was dim and no longer pulsed like a heartbeat. A heartbeat which Clint would never give again.

Phil folded himself into the chair beside the bed once more. Taking Clint’s hand in his own, he folded his arms onto the mattress and cried.

* * *

 

There were three things Phil noticed very quickly upon waking up the following morning.

1) There was a dull ache coursing from his head, to his neck and shoulders, and down to his back that would take no less than a two hour hot shower to work things out.   
2) The sun was already up and shining, bright warm and mocking into Clint’s room. Why couldn’t it rain? Why’d it have to be so gorgeous outside?  
3) Natasha was in the room with him, sitting on the other side of the bed, talking to someone. Someone who sounded suspiciously like Clint…

“He’s been in here all night with you. He thought you were dead.”

“Why’d he think that…?”

“Because you mostly were.”

“Well...better to be mostly dead than all dead, I guess…”

“Mm...you can sit up now, Coulson. That can’t be comfortable.”

Phil stayed with his head on the mattress for a moment longer, afraid to open his eyes, afraid to lift his head and find he was trapped in some morbid nightmare. It would be his luck, he’d look up only to find both Clint and Natasha sitting there as melting, decaying corpses. So he didn’t. He stayed perfectly still, his eyes closed tight and his mind clamping down on whatever small kernel of hope his heart dared to have.

“Phil…?”

God the voice sounded so much like Clint’s, it clenched tight in Phil’s chest.

Gentle fingers trailed down his cheek, across the shell of his ear, pausing to play with the little nondescript stud in the lobe. “Please, Phil?”

Taking a shuttered breath, Phil slowly pushed himself upright, eyes not yet willing to look anywhere except the blanket. The blanket that covered Clint’s body. A body that was...surprisingly more filled out than it’d been the night before. By no means 100% yet, but at the very least a good 60 or 70%.

Phil’s gaze trailed up from the legs that looked like they might finally be able to hold weight for a little while, to the stomach that no longer caved inwards. There was meat covering the sharp corners of his hipbones again and the ribs were slowly fading from sight. The firm, toned muscles he’d known on Clint’s body were still missing, but there was at least muscle visible again in places where it’d all but disappeared.

Slowly, he met the tired gaze of Clint Barton.

“Clint?” His voice was rough and it was only when Clint’s hand came up to wipe at his cheek did Phil realize he was crying. “Clint. How--”

“Stasis,” Natasha pushed herself up from the bed, a coy little smirk on her lips and a glimmer of amusement in her eyes. “You jumped to conclusions last night and never let Frigga explain.”

Phil’s mind seemed to short circuit at that. “Stasis?”

“They had to put him in stasis so their magic could rebuild and repair his organs and muscles. Essentially turned off his lungs and heart until they were repaired enough to function fully again. Kind of like turning off a lamp before changing the light bulb.”

Clint groaned, his head resting back into the pillows. “That’s the worst analogy I’ve ever heard in my life.”

“Maybe. But it’s fitting.” Turning, she crossed to the door and paused. Hand on the knob, she looked back to Phil, a genuine small smile in place. “Remember what I said last night about owing everyone a real wedding, Coulson. We’re not going to let you out of it.”

A choked off laugh tumbled out of Phil as he nodded, his hand curling into Clint’s. He definitely was not going to forget that.

Watching the door shut, he was drawn back to Clint, the man’s grasp stronger than it’d been the past few weeks. He met Clint’s gaze once more, smiling softly when he saw the silver ring that had been on Clint’s finger, now hung on a chain around his neck, resting easily against his chest.

“You’re really alive,” It felt like a dream still, one that Phil was in no hurry to wake up from.

Clint’s smile made Phil’s heart twist and jump, while the hand he’d been holding came up to cup his cheek, thumbing under his eye. “Yeah...that’s what Tasha kept tellin’ me anyway…”

“I thought I’d lost you.”

“ ‘M a fighter, Phil,” Clint smirked, carefully pulling him up onto the bed with him, shifting so there was room for them to share the pillow. “That’s what you kept tellin’ me last night, isn’t it?”

Phil nodded, not trusting his voice to answer completely.

“Besides,” Clint leaned in, his eyes half shut. Their lips met in a slow, tender kiss, a repeat of the one they shared atop of half-sized Eiffel Tower. When Clint pulled back, Phil’s eyes stayed softly closed, leaving their foreheads touching and gently nudged their noses together. Clint’s lips brushed in a soft whisper over Phil’s. “You owe me a honeymoon that I’m not dying through.”

Relief and happiness bubbled up inside of him, and Phil laughed out loud, the corners of his eyes crinkling. Nodding, he pressed himself in closer, relishing in the feel of Clint’s body warm, solid and rebuilding against him. Tilting his head in for another kiss, Phil just nodded again.

“That can definitely be arranged.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Clint’s Bucket List  
> \--Go skydiving  
> \--Go bungee jumping  
> \--Climb a mountain  
> \--Go to the Grand Canyon and shoot an arrow across it  
> \--Visit all 50 states  
> \--Go to a Comic Convention  
> \--Get a tattoo  
> \--Get a piercing  
> \--Drop a Grand in a strip joint for a private dance and just talk to the girl for awhile  
> \--Be an extra in a movie  
> \--Go to Disney World   
> \--RIDE every ride at Disney World  
> \--Learn to play the banjo  
> \--Watch every cartoon from the 80s and back  
> \--try every Mexican dessert then move onto the rest of Latin America  
> \--drive the entire highway system in the US  
> \--Read all 14 books of the Star Wars Young Jedi Knights series  
> \--Watch all three original Star Wars movies, on film, in a theater, one right after the other  
> \--Sing in front of an audience  
> \--Visit Waverly  
> \--Visit old house if it’s even still around  
> \--Visit cemetery mom’s at  
> \--Write an apology letter to Barney  
> \--Stay up all night just talking  
> \--Stand on the Great Wall of China   
> \--Stay at a hotel with a swimup bar at the pool  
> \--Stay in a treehouse hotel  
> \--Stay in an underwater hotel   
> \--Stay in an ice hotel   
> \--Get through reading at least ONE Shakespearean play  
> \--Watch the sun rise over every ocean   
> \--Go to the White House Easter Egg Roll  
> \--Go hang gliding   
> \--Kiss someone at the top of the Eiffel Tower  
> \--Make my family proud of me   
> \--stand on the top of the great pyramid of Giza  
> \--Go to Mardi Gras   
> \--Visit all the NHL arenas and MLB ballparks  
> \--See a musical on Broadway  
> \--Root for my country at the Olympics, winter or summer, I don’t care  
> \--Visit Ireland   
> \--Hockey, baseball, and rock & roll halls of fame  
> \--See Graceland  
> \--Cape Canaveral   
> \--learn a new language (particularly elven)  
> \--see the second largest ball of twine on the continental US  
> \--meet Ellen Degeneres  
> \--play the didgeridoo  
> \--own another wolfdog   
> \--graffiti   
> \--go scuba diving/snorkeling in the Great Barrier Reef  
> \--eat breakfast in bed  
> \--go to the top of a mountain and just scream swear words at the top of my lungs   
> \--Have someone love me   
> \--Get married  
> \--Have kids  
> \--live a long fucking life
> 
> Thank you to the following people on Tumblr for sending me things from their OWN bucket lists to be added to Clint's! You're all awesome!   
> neartastic, theseawillneversettle, kayleesprettypinkdress, brassmama, ralkana, shieldshawk, totalnerdatheart, earthseed-fic 
> 
> If you sent me something and your name isn't listed here, let me know and I'll add it to the list. Sadly, I had to reconstruct the list of people who sent me things when I accidentally erased them from the list and couldn't get them back. 
> 
> It's been real. It's been grand. It's been fun. It's been real grand fun. I promised you all a happy ending and here you have it. There MIGHT be a small, one shot sequel to go along with it. Maybe. We'll see. Because I'm a sucker for wedding fics and this just might need that "real wedding" Natasha told them they needed to have.


End file.
